


Dead Man Walking

by mitslits, Sheepie



Series: The Walking Dead [1]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, BAMF!Eggsy, BAMF!Harry, Cannibalism, Domestic Violence, Fighting Zombies, Frottage, Graphic Violence, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Smut, Walking Dead AU, Zombie AU, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-08-15 09:57:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 95,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8051908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitslits/pseuds/mitslits, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheepie/pseuds/Sheepie
Summary: After months of being in a coma, Harry wakes in a new world overridden with the undead. Eggsy has been fighting in it for months, ever since a mysterious explosion tore through a factory and unleashed the walking dead. Harry needs to reach Kingsman Estate if there's even a chance at saving the world, and Eggsy is the person that can get him there. In a world overrun with monsters, both living and dead, Harry and Eggsy discover they're the only ones they can depend on.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So me and Mitslits started this in May. After months of writing and editing it's finally finished. We have the entire thing written so it'll be updated regularly. Updates will be every Friday and Wednesday. We had so much fun writing this and we really hope everyone enjoys it!

The few moments after Harry truly wakes up are full of firsts. Somewhat fitting, he’ll think later, given the new world he was born into the second his eyes opened. 

 

It’s the first time waking in a warm hospital (the places are usually so damn cold). The first time not hearing the blip of a heart monitor to welcome him back to the land of the living, and the first time being completely and utterly alone, no nurses walking past his door or popping in to check on him. He would almost be grateful for that one if it hadn’t given him a strange sense of foreboding. 

 

Cautiously he sits up, wincing at the lance of pain that shoots through his side. His breath hisses through his teeth as he automatically presses a hand to his wound over the flimsy hospital gown. `He can feel a large bandage taped to his skin underneath it, and briefly remembers the agony that had come with the bullet slamming into his gut. Sighing, he swings his legs off the side of the bed, the tiles strangely warm beneath his feet.

 

The air conditioning must have been out for far longer than he’d first expected. Everything is unsettlingly quiet and it surrounds him, slipping into him, and tying his stomach into a knot of anxiety. 

 

Harry’s legs complain as soon as he stands, not used to taking his weight after lying so long unused. He nearly collapses after taking just one step, and has to cling to the bedframe to keep from falling to the floor. He quells the instinct to call for help; whatever has caused this eerie silence to settle over the hospital might still be out there and he isn’t keen on alerting them to his presence. Gritting his teeth, he wills himself to straighten back up and try again. This time he’s able to shuffle forwards a few steps before there’s a slight tug, a pinprick of pain in the back of his hand. 

 

There’s an IV still connected, the tube stretched out behind him, tethering him to the drip that’s long since run dry. 

 

Harry narrows his eyes. He would have thought it would have been replaced as soon as it ran out. The only conclusion he can come to is that there is no one left to do so. A chill runs through him and he yanks the needle out of his hand, ignoring the small spurt of blood that follows. Absently wiping the blood away on the hospital gown, he takes a few more experimental steps until he’s certain he can walk pretty well on his own. 

 

There’s an extra layer to the silence now, a lingering  uneasiness in the back of his mind. His  fears can’t be true. 

 

_ I stopped Valentine, killed him before he had the chance to- the explosion!  _

 

That had to be it. Valentine himself might not have lived to release his virus, but the explosion could have triggered its release.

 

“Shit,” Harry breathes out, eyes closing in defeat. None of them had known exactly what the virus would do, but there was no question it was something terrible, considering Valentine’s goal had, essentially, been to wipe out humanity. 

 

Its release would at least account for the lack of activity in the hospital, but the thought is far from comforting. Another realization is right on its heels. He has no idea what he’ll find waiting for him on the other side of that door. 

 

Suddenly wary, he takes a half-step away from it, narrowing his eyes. The instinct to find out everything he can about a situation before heading into it is hardwired into him by now. He turns his back on the door temporarily, crossing the room to the window on the opposite side. He’s high enough up that he’ll be able to get a decent view of the city, at least. 

 

There’s a thin layer of dust and grime over the glass and Harry has to rub it away before he can properly see through it. The view takes his breath away. 

 

It looks like something out of a disaster movie. A thin stream of white smoke threads its way into the sky in the distance. Every visible shop front is boarded up. Sunlight glints off the shattered glass scattered on the pavement from broken windows, a mark presumably left behind by looters. Cars with doors half-open stand abandoned in the street below his window. 

 

Here and there a few figures move, lurching and stumbling as if they’re hurt. From this height Harry can’t see exactly what’s wrong with them, and he wonders if they’re infected by the virus, shut out and left to die by those as yet untouched. 

 

He breathes in deeply through his nose and takes a step back from the window, turning so he doesn’t have to look anymore. The fact that he doesn’t know what’s happened itches at him, but the only way to get answers is to go out there and find them. Warily, he eyes the door again. He’s going to have to leave eventually, but he’d rather feel more prepared than he currently does. 

 

The hospital room might have seemed useless to most people but Harry’s used to improvisation. His first order of business is to find something to drink. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’s gotten any form of hydration, but the way his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth suggests that it’s been quite some time. 

 

To his surprise, the water in the bathroom turns on. That means the power is still working, though he suspects it’s from a generator. Apparently, air conditioning had not been a priority for the backup system. Strange, he thinks, that anyone would have disconnected him from his heart monitor. Surely the generator would have fed it? The clear stream of water distracts him from his thoughts, reminds him of how dry his throat is. 

 

He sticks his head under the faucet and drinks straight from that, slurping it down greedily for as long as he can before he has to pull back and take a breath. Once he feels a little stronger he straightens up, switching the faucet off and heading back into the main room. He can’t resist taking another peek out the window, narrowing his eyes again as he watches the strange movements of the people below.

 

The way they move is disquieting; there’s something unnatural about it, and a shudder runs down his spine. With the image of them burned in his mind he turns back to the bed, ripping at the sheets until he’s torn free a section large enough that he can tie it around the back of his head, drape it over his mouth. It’s not as good as a surgical mask, but the makeshift bandanna will work until he can find one. Useless, perhaps. If the disease is airborne he would have spent hours breathing it in already, but it makes him feel at least a little better so he keeps it. 

 

He doesn’t feel complete without a weapon, but anything he might have had is more than likely buried in the rubble of Valentine’s lair. His fingers automatically touch his wrist and he feels an ache of longing when he finds it bare. Even his watch would have been better than  _ nothing _ . Something catches his attention, a glint in the corner of his eye, light reflecting off metal. 

 

“You’re getting slow, Hart,” he mutters under his breath. Perhaps that can be forgiven, what with being in a coma, but he can’t afford to get sloppy, not now. Not when he’s all on his own. 

 

He unhooks the drip bag from the IV stand, tossing it to one side carelessly. The rest of the tubes follow it until he has a decent weapon. Decent enough to knock someone out should he find himself assaulted, at the very least. It’s heavier than he expected but he can wheel it when necessary. He sucks in one last deep breath, cloth adhering to his mouth. 

 

Time to find out what happened while he was out. 

 

He closes one hand around the door handle and tightens the other around the metal stand in preparation. Carefully he eases the door open an inch, pausing to listen. When there’s nothing but silence he edges it open a bit more and finds his path blocked. A filing cabinet lies on its side in front of the door, effectively preventing anything from getting in, papers scattered on the ground around it. It was clear that someone had been trying to protect him, had dragged it there purposefully, and Harry’s brow furrows. Whoever it was hadn’t stuck around to see how he’d fared after. 

 

Moving it could very well prove too much for him, weak as he still is, and besides there is plenty of room between it and the top of the door. He steps up onto it, wincing as the adhesive on the bandage pulls at his skin. The metal groans under his weight and he quickly steps down to the other side, turning back to the doorway to grab the IV stand. It’s a bit of a strain to maneuver it through the gap, especially with as much as it weighs. He curses as the base bangs into the filing cabinet, the clash of metal  ringing through the empty hallways. 

 

Something  snarls in response. Harry freezes, cursing himself for already being so careless. The IV stand, however, decides that it hasn’t quite done enough damage. The rolling base falls away, clattering onto the file cabinet before skidding backwards and clanging onto the floor, leaving Harry with what amounts to a long metal rod topped with two hooks. He winces as the sound  echoes down the hallways, the snarling growing louder. Hefting his new weapon up, he cautiously slides forwards a few steps, eyes darting around for the source of the sound. 

 

For a minute or two there’s nothing. He begins to wonder if it was all in his imagination, some trick of the hallways twisting the metallic screech into something more sinister. Then he sees it. A shambling, lumbering figure just like the people he’d spotted outside comes lurching around the corner, growling low in her throat. 

 

She was a nurse, it seems, from the blood-stained scrubs she’s dressed in and the surgical mask that hangs from her neck. Harry doesn’t know what she is now. Automatically he takes a step backwards, suddenly grateful for the cloth he’s wrapped over his mouth. There’s no doubt in his mind that something is very, very wrong with this woman. 

 

Her ankle is broken, unnaturally twisted, but she pays it no attention, limping forward steadily. She snarls again when she spots him, mouth opening and closing, snapping at nothing. Her hands stretch out and reach for him, grabbing empty air as he takes another few steps back.

 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he warns her, holding the IV stand up meaningfully. He’s not exactly a stranger to killing civilians, but he’d rather give her the chance to surrender before blindly striking out. 

 

If she hears him, she ignores him. Her pace is slow, but steady. As she draws nearer, her snarls grow louder; Harry suspects he’s only imagining the tinge of desperation he hears in them. Whatever sickness she has seems to have turned her into a mindless machine and, for whatever reason, he is the focus of her attention. 

 

He takes another half-step back but she doesn’t waver, keeps coming for him. “Don’t make me do this,” he says through gritted teeth, leveling the blunt end of the rod at her stomach. He doesn’t know if he has enough strength to skewer her, but he can probably hurt her enough to force her to stop. Harry can’t risk getting sick, not when there are still so many questions to be answered. Kingsman is going to need him. That much is clear even from what little he knows. “Please,” he tries to say as she takes another, lurching step towards him. It comes out as more of a whisper, one she isn’t likely to have heard over her own snarling. 

 

There’s nothing for it. He has to stop her somehow. “Forgive me.” He grips the rod with both hands like a baseball bat, sweeping it low and hitting her right in her busted ankle. The momentum carries the rod into her other foot and he hears the distinct crack of bone. She collapses, the shriek of pain he’s expecting strangely absent.

 

Her new position doesn’t seem to disturb her in the least. She takes to clawing at the linoleum, hauling herself across the floor towards him. 

 

Harry’s brow furrows, grip tightening around his improvised weapon. There’s no point in killing her now that she’s incapacitated, but an uneasy feeling stirs in his gut. He’s never seen anybody act like this before and he wonders just what it was Valentine had managed to whip up in his lab. He moves back far enough that it will take her a minute or two to reach him given her slow pace, crouching down so he’s more at her level. “What happened to you?” he asks. 

 

Her only answer is an empty click of teeth. 

 

His eyes flick down to the ID badge hanging from her scrubs, the small square of laminated plastic dragging on the ground. It reads ‘Jeanette Simmons,’ and he looks her in the eyes, gaze focused. “Jeanette, I want you to tell me what’s going on.” 

 

There’s nothing, no flash of recognition, no slowing in her quest to reach him; her eyes stay as flat and dead as they had been previously. 

 

Harry straightens up, mind whirling in confusion. Whatever this sickness is it seems to have stripped her of most, if not all, cognitive function. That’s not a fate he wants to share. He moves to one side of the hallway, determined to skirt around her and get the hell out of there. If he can get to Kingsman he has a better chance of surviving, a better chance of righting the wrong he’s committed. 

 

Her head follows him as he steps past it, careful to avoid her snapping teeth and grasping fingers. It’s only then that he spots it, the right leg of her scrubs bunched up around her knee from her steady slide over the tiles. A red, angry mark halfway down her calf, dried blood crusted around the wound. 

 

Glancing back over his shoulder he takes in her gaping mouth, still vainly trying to reach him, and it clicks into place.  _ Don’t get bitten _ . With that in mind he moves on cautiously, ears straining to hear beyond the frustrated growls from the nurse behind him. He pauses at the edge of the hallway, not knowing what could be waiting for him around the corner. 

 

Slowly, he sticks out the metal rod, banging it a few times against the floor before pulling it back to his side. He tenses his muscles in preparation for a fight. He counts off thirty seconds, peeking out when there doesn’t seem to be any sign of life. 

 

The corridor is empty save for a limp figure sprawled on the floor about halfway along it. Swallowing down the instinct to call out a greeting, Harry approaches him warily. He stops a few feet away, studying him. 

 

He’s slumped against the wall, sitting in a pool of blood that Harry suspects is his own given the gaping wound in his neck. Curious, Harry leans forward to inspect it. It looks jagged, careless. 

 

The man lets out a raspy groan and Harry jerks back. He’d been sure this guy was dead with a hole like that in the side of his neck. The rod slips out of his grip in his surprise and the man’s head jerks towards the sound. He spots Harry and his mouth opens, jaw stretching awkwardly as if it’s his first time trying the movement. 

 

Another dry moan has Harry snatching his weapon back up, holding it in front of him defensively. “Can you speak?” he asks, doubting it. The nurse hadn’t seemed capable of speech and _ she _ hadn’t had a chunk taken out of her vocal cords. 

 

Sure enough he only snaps at Harry, one arm twitching as if he wants to reach out for him but can’t quite figure out how his limbs work. 

 

Harry lingers for a few seconds, eyes fixed on the terrible wound in his neck, wondering how he could possibly have survived it. And yet he must be alive because he’s moving, rocking towards him with those same terrible moans periodically dripping from his lips. 

 

It would be cruel to leave him here like this. Sick and injured, unable to move properly. The metal rod seems a lot heavier than it did seconds before. Harry lets out a slow breath, gripping it in both hands. Wordlessly he braces his feet against the floor and lifts the rod, driving it forward with as much strength as he can muster. He ignores a burst of pain that shoots through him as he strains his wound. 

 

The metal buries itself in the man’s stomach with a sickening squelch. He lets out an equally sickening gurgle but there isn’t the slump that Harry expected, the slow trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth that comes with internal wounds. In fact, he doesn’t seem to be affected in the least. His hand finally gains a shaky sort of stability and, instead of reaching for the pole sticking out of his abdomen, he swipes at Harry.

 

Harry’s stomach drops. He’d  _ skewered _ him and the man didn’t even acknowledge it. He seems just as indifferent about his wound as the woman had about her broken ankles. Suspicion creeps  in on Harry and he reaches  up to yank off his makeshift mask. Eager to prove to himself that what he’s thinking is ridiculous, Harry waves one hand in front of him. He waits until the man’s mouth is open and closing in on him before shoving it in, tying the cloth off around the back of the man’s head. 

 

The man moans around the gag, teeth working at it uselessly. Still he reaches for him, fingers brushing limply over Harry’s arm before Harry secures his wrist. 

 

Harry’s heart thrums in his chest as he holds the limp hand--too cold, far too cold--in his, settling his thumb over the man’s pulse. Or rather, where his pulse should be. There’s nothing there, no steady beat denoting his working heart, no biological rhythm that would show he’s alive. Yet he’s still moving, groaning, twitching, blinking vacantly up at Harry. Harry throws the man’s hand away, practically leaping backwards in his haste to get away from him. 

 

This isn’t happening, he tells himself. This is some strange fever dream he’s having. He’s probably still in a coma and he’d very much like to wake up now. But the pain that radiates through his side belies that theory and he unconsciously presses his hand to the bandage. Best to treat this as reality, at least until he can get confirmation otherwise. 

 

On shaky legs Harry staggers down the corridor until he reaches a set of double doors. They’re smeared with bloody handprints and Harry wonders what exactly had happened while he’d been unconscious. He sends silent thanks to whoever had pushed that filing cabinet in front of his room; given the behavior of these creatures, he doubts he would have lasted long without it. 

 

He can’t quite force himself through the doors, not without a weapon of some kind. Normally he can depend on his own body, the martial arts training he’s had sufficient for incapacitating most attackers. These enemies, however, don’t seem to feel pain, even if he’d had the strength to get in more than one or two punches. He’s loathe to go back to the living corpse he’s already pinned to the wall, but he doesn’t have much choice. There is only one other door in the corridor, and when he peeks through the thin strip of glass all he can see on the other side is complete darkness. He isn’t going into that if he can help it. 

 

The man has grown slightly more animated, even in the few short minutes it takes Harry to return to him. His movements are still stiff and jerky, but there’s a deliberation to them as Harry comes closer, his gnarled hands grasping at thin air. 

 

Harry doesn’t linger in front of him for long. He yanks the bloody rod out of him, moving out of range before he figures out how to work his legs again. Forcing himself to slow down and not go barreling through the double doors, Harry takes a long look through the smudged glass. 

 

It looks empty, just as abandoned as the rest of the hospital, and he sighs in relief. He doesn’t have the first idea what these things are and facing a whole horde of them is far from appealing. 

 

This hall is lined with doors, most likely leading into more rooms like his. Small glances into the rooms confirm as much and he shrugs off the slight twinge of disappointment as he finds each of them empty. Finally he comes across a small storage closet and finds a few pairs of scrubs inside. One set fits well enough. He ditches the flimsy gown, sucking in a harsh breath as he  pulls on the shirt. The soft, white shoes aren’t exactly durable, but they’re better than nothing, and he  tugs a pair of them on as well. 

 

The hallway dead-ends at a lift, something he’s certainly not going to risk with the lack of power. With a frustrated growl, he swings back around, marching back towards the double doors. He pushes through them, intent on heading back the way he’d come and trying the other way when he pauses in front of the one door in this direction he hasn’t tried. 

 

He peers through the window again but only the same bleak darkness greets him. He sucks in a deep breath, one hand tightening around the rod as he reaches for the handle. It swings open readily enough and he steps cautiously into the room. There’s actual airflow here and the soft click of the door as it closes behind him echoes slightly. A stairwell, then. 

 

Groping blindly, his free hand closes around a section of metal railing. He takes a step forward when there’s a sudden thud behind him and he whirls around, rod at the ready. 

 

The man from before is  plastered against the glass, gagged mouth  pressing against it as if he could chew his way through to get to the person on the other side. He claws at the wood and Harry’s shoulders slump. 

 

The door will most likely hold, at least long enough for him to get out of the building. Not wanting to stay any longer than he has to, Harry feels his way along until he finds the first step. He hurries down the staircase until he reaches the next landing. He doesn’t have any idea what floor he was on; he just knows it was relatively high from the view out of the window. A few times the rod he carries bangs against the railing and he has to stop and listen for any sounds of pursuit. 

 

Thankfully he reaches the ground floor after only a few minutes, a thin slice of light coming in through the window of the exit door. Harry tries to see outside but his eyes can’t adjust quickly enough after being in absolute darkness for so long. Eventually he just pushes out into the open. 

 

The smell hits him first. He can’t remember ever smelling something so terrible and he half-wishes he had his mask back if only to dampen it a little bit. He clamps a hand over his nose and mouth instead, but it doesn’t do much. Better than nothing. He stands still, unwilling to move until he can see again. Gradually his eyes adjust and he blinks owlishly, taking in his surroundings. 

 

Rows and rows of bodies line the grassy courtyard, stacked one on top of another in some areas. Sheets cover most of them but here and there he can see twisted limbs sticking out from underneath. Puddles of blood surround some of them, white sheets streaked with red. There are paths through the rows, grass trampled down from the passage of many feet. 

 

Harry lurches forwards unsteadily. Fatigue drags at his limbs and he doesn’t know when the last time he’s had any sort of sustenance was. Ignoring his aching abdomen, he forces himself forwards, determined to get to Kingsman somehow. He suspects he’ll be able to hunt down a car that still has gas and there’s no doubt in his mind he’ll be able to hotwire it when he does. 

 

He’s only a little more than a quarter of the way down the path when he first notices something’s off. A slight breeze blows, rustling some of the sheets behind him and carrying away the smell for a blessed second. It dies away all too soon and it only takes a couple more steps for Harry to realize the rustling hasn’t stopped. He stands rooted to the spot, grip going white-knuckled around the rod he’s holding. 

 

The sound grows steadily louder. Something off to the right of him shifts and he jerks around, the rush of blood in his ears drowning out everything else. 

 

Harry watches in horrified awe as the body lying under the nearest sheet moves, fingers scrabbling at the fabric until it flutters to the ground. 

 

This corpse is far more dilapidated than the two he’d come across inside the hospital and his heart seizes in his chest. Her hair is scraggly, patches of it gone as if someone had ripped it right out by the roots. Half her face is rotted, one eye dangling from its socket uselessly, blood crusted on her cheeks and forehead. A low moan rattles deep in her chest as she clambers to her feet, tattered dress fluttering around her knees. 

 

There aren’t many things that can freeze Harry Hart in his tracks. Watching this undead apparition stumble towards him turns out to be one of them. He’s vaguely aware of more rustling around him, more sheets tumbling to the ground, more dead rising, moving steadily in his direction. 

 

It takes a moment or two but finally his thoughts coalesce into one basic instinct:  _ run _ . He doesn’t think, just obeys. Pain sparks from his wound but he ignores it, pushing himself to run faster. His feet pound over the pavement, matching the pounding of his pulse, more and more bodies getting up around him. 

 

A little over halfway through the courtyard he risks a glance over his shoulder and nearly misses a step. There’s a veritable horde behind him, all of them just as rank as the first he’d seen out here. He spots bones poking out of some, gaping wounds on others, gnashing teeth on all of them. “Fucking shit,” he breathes out, forcing himself to pick up his pace. 

 

He can feel stitches popping as he goes, warm blood spilling out of him, staining the bandage and slowly seeping through the scrubs. But the dead are still coming, some staggering out in front of him. He knows he has to get out before they surround him completely. 

 

One of them swipes at him from the side, fingers catching at the sleeve of his shirt. Without a second thought he lashes out with the rod, shattering its arm. It drops to its side limply and Harry’s off before it can try and grab him with the other one. 

 

They keep coming and Harry keeps swinging, letting instinct take over completely. The gap between himself and the edge of the walled courtyard closes inch by inch and he begins to think he’ll make it. Then his rod lodges between the ribs of one of the dead and he’s jerked backwards, a fresh burst of agony ripping through his shoulder from the abrupt stop. Desperately he tugs at the weapon but it’s stuck firmly in place. 

 

“Fuck!” Harry abandons the rod and clenches his hands into fists. He doesn’t know how to kill these things, or even if they can die, but he isn’t going to just sit here and wait for them to kill him. 

  
“Right, then,” he mutters, shifting into a defensive stance and readying himself for whatever’s coming next. “Let’s see if I can take at least one of you with me.”


	2. Until Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is saved by a mysterious survivor wielding a crossbow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Saturday and Wednesday.

Things didn’t belly up immediately. It wasn’t like Eggsy had woken one morning to the undead swarming like ants over a lollipop. No, it had been a slow erosion, a weathering over weeks, where London seemed to unravel into bedlam. It started with the explosion of an old factory in the industrial district. The sky had burned and black plumes as tall as skyscrapers had blocked out the sun; for hours the city had watched with bated breath as fire fighters struggled to combat the inferno.

 

Eggsy wasn’t sure when the shift happened, he just knew that at some point the world had treaded too far into the darkness, and now they no longer knew their way back.

 

He’d like to say he was used to the odious stench that hung in the air, amplified by the muggy heat that rolled through the derelict metropolis, but how did you get used to the smell of rotted flesh?

 

To help dull the the rancid odor of decaying flesh and shit, Eggsy covers the lower half of his face with a bandana. He feels like he’s ten again and playing cops and robbers -- only, this version is so much more dangerous.

 

He moves swiftly down the street, keeping close to the buildings as he makes his way to the hospital. It’s just a scouting mission, not an official raid, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t get hurt.

 

A dry breeze tousles his hair as he turns a corner and comes to a stop. He presses one hand against the rough, greasy brick wall and squints into the distance.

 

The hospital is close. The low, ebbing groans of walkers rustle through the streets and set Eggsy’s nerves on edge. He glances over his shoulder to make sure no one--or nothing--is sneaking up on him, and then adjusts the strap of his crossbow slung across his back and hurries down the street.

 

As he passes a narrow alley, something makes a sharp scratching noise, followed by a mindless moan. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t look.

 

The sound of walkers doesn’t fade as he moves further down the street; it grows louder, doubling and tripling, until Eggsy realizes belatedly it wasn’t one hungry cry, but an entire horde of ravenous undead.

 

He skids to a stop at the edge of the courtyard, a kilometer from an undulating mass of atrophied bodies. The hairs on the back of Eggsy’s neck stand. For a second Eggsy waits for them to turn and wash over him like a tidal wave. He waits for the pain. For the fear. For the death, and the rebirth.

 

Then that infinite, terrifying second ends, and his mind snaps into gear, hijacked by a shot of adrenaline and a will to survive.

 

He catalogues escape routes, counts how many walkers there are--at least seven, maybe more. It’s hard to tell with their thrashing limbs. They’re distracted, Eggsy realizes, lunging and snapping at something.

 

“Fuck!” someone shouts, and through a break in brown leathered skin and bleached bone, Eggsy spots a man. He’s a brief flash of brown hair and honeyed eyes wide with panic.

 

Eggsy doesn’t hesitate as he swings his crossbow off his back, already loaded and ready to fire. It takes only two seconds to line up a shot and send a bolt through the temple of the walker closest to the man. He reloads the crossbow, the muscles in his arms bunching as he pulls hard on the chord. Eggsy fires a second shot, this time the arrow embedding into the empty socket of one of the perimeter walkers.

 

“Get the fuck out of there,” Eggsy shouts to the man, sprinting headlong into the fray. He straps the crossbow back on his back, and in a fluid movement, unsheathes a bowie knife strapped to his thigh and stabs it into the forehead of a walker.

 

One moment there is no boy and the next there is. Harry doesn’t know who he is or how he found him, he only knows the rush of gratitude that floods through him when he arrives. He throws himself through the first gap that appears in the ring of the dead, hurrying to the edge of the courtyard. 

 

Whoever this boy is, he actually appears to know what he’s doing and Harry figures it’s best to stay out of his way. He watches in thinly concealed awe as he cuts down the bodies, sharp eyes noting that every blow he lands is to their heads. 

 

Eggsy doesn’t think about what he’s doing; his brain shuts off, and all he knows is the fight. He’s aware of everything around him--the sweat rolling down his brow and burning his eyes, the glint of sun off the hood ornament on the car across the street, and the burn of stretching muscles as he twists and glides out of reach.

 

He rips the knife from the skull, chunks of grey matter flying past his eyes, and grabs onto a silver pole jutting from the chest cavity of one of the walkers.

 

In the back of his mind, Eggsy wonders:  _ why didn’t he go for the heads? _

 

Eggsy rips the pole out and spins it in his hand, all the while letting his feet fall into a defensive attack. There are four zombies left.

 

Harry’s metal rod, so useless in his hands, becomes a deadly weapon when wielded properly.

 

Eggsy adjusts his grip on his knife, chest heaving, and takes a solid ten seconds to consider his options. Then he sheathes the knife, grips the pole with two hands, and drives it through the gaping mouth of the nearest walker. He doesn’t stop until he feels the give of flesh and bone, and the rod pierces through the other side of the walker’s head and rams into the one behind her.

 

He releases the pole, whips his knife back out, and in a one-two motion, stabs the heads of the remaining two walkers. The bodies hit the ground with a thud, a blackish blood oozing from the gaping head wounds. Eggsy freezes, knife raised in attack, ready for another horde to rush him.

 

When nothing comes after Eggsy, he re-sheathes his knife--he’ll need to clean it--and turns to the man foolish enough to get himself surrounded by a walker horde.

 

“Are y’ okay, bruv?” Eggsy asks, before he spots the blood on the man’s side. In a flash, Eggsy draws his crossbow and aims at the man. “Are y’ bit? Show me y’r wound!”

 

Did he just save a dying man?

 

Harry catches the brief moment of panic that sparks in the stranger’s eyes when spots the wound. Harry glances down at his shirt himself. 

 

Eggsy narrows his eyes, his finger twitching against the trigger of the crossbow. If the man was bit, it will be a mercy to kill him. It’s better than turning.

 

“Show me, now!” Eggsy orders.

 

Harry’s shirt is spotted with blood and he tugs it it up, revealing a soaked bandage underneath. Warily, keeping his gaze on his rescuer the whole time, he slowly peels it away, hissing slightly as the adhesive tugs his stitches loose. He resists the urge to press his hand against it, a slow trickle of blood oozing down his abdomen.

 

“Shot,” he says, voice rasping through his throat. “I was shot. Before all this.” He sweeps his arm out to indicate the ruin around them. He doesn’t drop his guard, not sure if he’ll accept this as an answer. The living, at least, Harry can still handle.

 

Eggsy relaxes as soon as he sees that it isn’t a bite wound. He returns his crossbow to his back, offering a sheepish smile in apology. “Sorry, mate. Can’t be too sure these days.” He glances over his shoulder at the corpses scattered across the concrete.

 

He looks back at the man and gives him a once over. He’s pale, hair a nest of greasy curls, and chin unshaven. From the impression of lines that bracket his mouth and fork out at the corners of his eyes, Eggsy puts him in his early fifties. Beneath the soiled clothes and exhaustion, though, Eggsy recognizes a hunger for survival and slumbering strength.

 

“We should probably get that fixed.” Eggsy nods towards the wound, wincing at the blood that seeps out. If the man isn’t careful, the wound could easily go septic. “I’m Eggsy, by the way,” he adds, in way of introduction. He tugs down his bandana, revealing a sparkling smile. “About a block away is a chemist’s. Probably better we go there, than try to fight our way through there.” He thrusts a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the hospital. “How was it?”

 

“Abandoned. Mostly,” Harry amends, mind flicking back to the nurse and the man sprawled in the corridor, whoever he had been. The place was, in all likelihood, a gold mine of supplies, but he isn’t going back in there any time soon.

 

Harry turns back to examining his wound, needing another moment to catch his breath before they leave the walled courtyard. The blood flow has slowed and he can see most of it came from where his stitches were pulled from his skin rather than the bullet wound itself. Still, it aches, and he reattaches the bandage as best he can, letting his shirt fall back down to cover it.

 

As it settles back into place he takes in Eggsy. He truly is young, energy flowing through him even when he’s standing still. It sparks in his blue-green eyes, shows in the ready stance he’s settled into. Harry realizes he’s staring and forces his gaze away, turning instead to scan their surroundings. Whatever world it is he’s woken up in he knows enough to realize he can’t strike out on his own. Not until he knows more about it, at least. 

 

“You have a camp, a base, something,” he says and it isn’t a question. He knows enough about strategy to know that people would have bonded together in a time such as this and Eggsy doesn’t look like he’s underfed. His clothes look decent as well, dirty, but not tattered. “I can make it there.”

 

“Somehow I doubt that,” Eggsy says, giving Harry’s wound another look. “I do, but supplies is low. It’s why I’m here, innit? We’ll make a pit stop and then y’ can come back.”

 

He tries not to think about how Dean will react to another mouth to feed.  _ One thing at a time _ , Eggsy tells himself. First get this guy taken care of, then get back to base. If the hospital was abandoned like he said, then maybe Eggsy could get Ryan and Jamal to come with him. He wasn’t about to bring Rottie or Poodle along. They’d feed him to the walkers the minute things got a little hairy.

 

“So y’ going to tell me y’r name, or am I going to have to give y’ one?” Eggsy asks as he starts down the street. “Cause if that’s the case, I’m naming y’ Spot. Always did want a dog.”

 

He shoots the man his trademark dimpled grin. He keeps a hand close to his knife, as if he’s expecting someone to jump out any minute and attack. He’s not even fully sure he trusts this guy. He’s seen so many people kill one another in order to survive, making hard sacrifices no one should be forced to make.

 

Eggsy hopes that decision never falls on him.

 

Harry doesn’t allow himself to be swayed by the smile Eggsy turns on him. He doesn’t have any idea what he’s had to do to survive in a world like this, but he can guess that he’s had to do some unpleasant things, some things that could very well have turned him dangerous. “Harry,” he answers after a beat of silence. “And I would be much more useful with a weapon.” He gives Eggsy’s knife a pointed glance. 

 

The IV stand is still stuck through the heads of two corpses and he doesn’t fancy trying to yank it out.

 

Eggsy pauses and weighs Harry’s comment. His hand twitches, but he doesn’t grab the blade. He isn’t about to hand over his knife, even if he still had his crossbow. Without a word, Eggsy walks over to the IV stand and grabs it. With a small grunt he pulls it out of the walkers’ skulls, bits of grayish brain clinging to it. He crouches down and wipes it clean on one of the walker’s dresses, then tosses it to Harry.

 

Harry reaches up to catch it reflexively and he grimaces at the gore now decorating one end.

 

“Until we find y’ sumfin else, that’ll do. Just aim for the heads.” Eggsy stands, collects his arrows, and nods towards the street. “Let’s go, before y’ bleed out on me.”

 

“Aim for the heads,” Harry repeats, nodding. That would explain why neither the nurse nor the other man had died, even with the wounds they’d had. 

 

Eggsy glances at the sky, gauging how much time they have left before the world succumbs to night.  _ Not long. _ He’ll be pushing it to make it back to camp. If Dean has his way, Eggsy would get eaten up while he was out in the city. One less mouth to feed.

 

He stops briefly at a car pulled haphazardly to the side of the road, the front left tire on the sidewalk. He peeks inside to see if there’s anything he can knick, and something slams against the window. Eggsy jumps back, knife out. “Fuck!”

 

He winces at the sharp curse and glowers at the walker pawing the blood smeared window. Her small hands scrape against the glass, leaving brownish streaks. Eggsy’s stomach drops when he realizes she’s no older than four, with a mop of curly blonde hair framing her cadaverous face. There’s a large bite mark on one of her arms, long since festered and ruined.

 

“She’s still in her jammies,” Eggsy mutters to himself. For a second he considers leaving her, pretending that he hadn’t seen her small hands reaching hungrily for him, or that her large eyes weren’t vacant and pewter.

 

But he can’t. He can’t walk away, leave her here in this spectral state. It isn’t a way to live. It isn’t living.

 

Eggsy adjusts his grip on his knife, raising his arm over his head for a downwards strike, and then grabs the door handle. “Stay back,” Eggsy instructs Harry, then opens the door. Before the little girl can spill out and lunge for him, he slams the bowie knife into the top of her skull. Her small arms, extended out for him, slump, and she sags forward.

 

Eggsy sucks in a sharp breath and immediately regrets it. The stale air in the car hits him, and he chokes down a mouthful of rot, coating the back of his throat with blackish smog. He coughs into his arm and eases the girl to the ground, crouching to set her on the pavement. With a jerk, he pulls his knife out and cleans it on her unicorn pajamas.

 

It takes him a moment to gather himself. She doesn’t look anything like Daisy, but it’s too close to reality. Eggsy squeezes the child’s hand, allowing a few precious seconds to compose himself, then stands and sheathes his knife.

 

Harry watches it all with a mixture of disgust and pity. This is what humanity has descended into. This is what he’s done, what he caused through his incompetency. Were it not for his inability to stop Richmond Valentine, that little girl would still be alive. He wants to be sick and for a quick second he thinks he will be, but he forces the bile back down, leaning on the rod in his hands. He can’t afford to look weak, not now.

 

“Check the front, see if you can find anything we might need,” Eggsy instructs, already climbing into the back to see what he can find. There’s a soiled bookbag tucked beneath the passenger seat, small and bright pink, with pockets in shades of neon orange and highlighter yellow. Eggsy tugs it out and sets it on the seat. On the front pocket is a large, psychedelic daisy, and Eggsy smiles.

 

He checks the inside, and it’s mostly kid’s junk, some spare clothes and coloring books, a blanket, and a tuft of fur that belongs to some kind of animal. It’s completely useless. Dean will be pissed if he brings it back, but Eggsy swings it over his shoulder anyways and climbs out of the car.

 

“Find anything?”

 

Harry clambers into the front seat of the car, doing a quick check of the bloodstained seats before flipping open the glove box. There’s a few crumpled napkins, an old plastic hairbrush, other bits of useless junk. He’s about to head back when he sees something glinting underneath one of the napkins, reaches forward to pull the object  out . 

 

It’s a small switchblade, just big enough to be a threat, but easily concealed if need be. He flicks it open, running his eyes along the gleaming blade. Then Eggsy’s voice filters into him and he glances over his shoulder, debating whether or not to tell him what he’s found. Quickly, he slips it into his pocket, the knife a solid, comforting weight as he crawls back  out side. “No,” he says, straightening again. “Nothing.”

 

Eggsy huffs in dismay, but accepts it -- most of the cars had been stripped clean. He pops the trunk, combs through the luggage. Clothes, and while he’d like to grab them, he can’t afford to bring any with him. He finds a couple sticks of deodorant that he shoves in the kiddie knapsack and a small first aid kit that most people keep in their car.

 

“Well, come on I guess,” Eggsy says. He pauses briefly to look Harry over, gaze narrowed. “Are y’ still feeling okay?”

 

“I’m fine,” Harry assures him, not actually taking the time to determine whether he is or not. He’s fine because he has to be; they shouldn’t spend a lot of time out in the open, especially not after night falls. Eggsy’s camp could be miles away and they still have to go to the chemist’s first.

 

Eggsy nods and continues on to the chemist’s. Somewhere in the distance, walkers growl and groan. The low, animalistic sound that’s all too human sends shivers down Eggsy’s spine, along with beads of sweat. He wipes his brow with the back of his arm and turns the corner, stopping long enough to make sure nothing is there, before hurrying across the street.

 

He ducks behind another abandoned car and peeks over the hood. At the far end of the street, huddled together in a swarm, is a small pack of walkers. It doesn’t take much to realize they’re feeding, especially when there’s an abandoned knapsack in the middle of the road.

 

Eggsy considers briefly going for it, but it’s too much of a risk. He looks over at Harry and places a finger to his lips to signal being quiet, then gestures for him to crouch behind the SUV.

 

Instantly, Harry drops behind the vehicle, heart pounding. There aren’t any sounds of pursuit, however, and his brow furrows. Surely the walkers would have noticed, given how close they’d come to the pack. But when he edges his head over the hood to take a second glance they seem totally absorbed in their meal. Still, he doesn’t linger, sliding back down to the ground as soon as he’s sure they won’t have to fight their way out. 

 

“Shop is right there,” Eggsy whispers. Through the side mirror, Eggsy can make out the chemist’s. The front window is shattered, no doubt from looters, which doesn’t inspire much hope that there’ll be supplies. “I’ll distract them, y’ go for the shop. I’ll come around once I lose them. See if y’ can find something for y’r wound. Can y’ do that, bruv?”

 

Harry shoots a concerned glance at Eggsy. He just saw him take on seven of those things and live, but the idea of him deliberately calling attention to himself doesn’t sit well with him. “You know what your group needs better than I do,” he counters. “Let me distract them.” 

 

“With that wound? I don’t think so,” Eggsy says. “And it ain’t like I’m going to run head first in there.” He shoves the small daisy printed backpack at Harry and stands. “Just be quick, ya? I’ll be there in a mo.”

 

He doesn’t wait for Harry to argue. Eggsy launches around the SUV, nimbly moving closer to the discarded pack, using the few cars dotting the street as cover. He keeps low to the ground, watching as the walkers chew on glistening globs of intestine and handfuls of sinewy muscle.

 

Harry clamps down on his protests, not wanting to alert them by making any noise. He glares daggers at Eggsy’s retreating figure, despite the fact that he can’t see him. He picks up the pack and prepares to make a quick dash for the shop. 

 

Even from where Eggsy crouches, he can see that they’ve excavated the poor bastard unlucky enough to get caught. He glances around the ground, searching for something to use as a distraction. Rolling on the ground is a tin soda can. He grabs it, weighs it in his hand, and then hurls it through the shop front. The glass shatter is a thunder crack, and the five feeding walkers prairie dog up, heads turning to the broken window.

 

Chunks of meat and blood slip from their gaping mouths and hands as they shamble to their feet. Eggsy leans back down, pressing his back to the door. He fingers his bowie knife, listening to the shuffling feet of the passing walkers.

 

He could take them out. But they’re thoroughly invested in the store, climbing through the broken glass, one even impaling herself on a sharp, jagged piece.

 

No, it isn’t worth the risk.

 

Seizing the opportunity Eggsy’s given him, Harry slings the pack over one shoulder, dashing past the remnants of the corpse, which he pointedly does not look at. He vaults through the open window, landing with a soft grunt of pain as he jars his wound. Moving as quickly as he can, he scans shelves, looking for anything that seems familiar.

 

There are a few bottles of Paracetamol sprawled across the floor and he scoops them up, shoving them inside. Ace bandages quickly follow it, as well as a few other drugs he half-recognizes and thinks he might have heard doctors mention while he was holed up in medical. Harry glances once more around the shop, but the thought that the undead could come back at any moment spurs him back out. 

 

He climbs out of the window a little less gracefully, his side protesting heavily at its treatment. Stifling a hiss as he lands on the pavement, he forces himself to run hunched over until he’s back behind the vehicle. 

 

“Got everything?” Eggsy asks when Harry returns. The sight of him carrying the child’s size knapsack is amusing, and a smile twitches at the corners of Eggsy’s mouth.

 

Ignoring the slight smile, Harry double-checks the pack to make sure nothing has fallen out. After a quick look, he ascertains that everything is as it should be and gives him a silent nod.

 

Eggsy shoves off the SUV and peeks over to where the walkers have ambled. The one impaled on the glass seems to have given up trying to remove herself and hangs limply, her head turning left and right. Most of the walkers have begun to drift away, closing off the far end of the street.

 

“It’ll be the long way around,” Eggsy murmurs, more to himself than anything. To Harry, he says, “Group is holed up at the Black Prince in Kennington.”

 

_ Hopefully we’ll make it there before dark. _

 

He skirts around the buildings, moving briskly down the street. The air stirs garbage littering the sidewalk. A plastic bag catches flight and dances across the pavement in careless twirls. Eggsy pauses occasionally, head twitching as he strains to listen for walkers and bandits. It isn’t just the undead he has to worry about.

 

Harry follows behind him, silent except for the slight clicking of his cargo, the bottles rolling together in the small pack he’s put back on his shoulder.

 

“So, how’d y’ get shot?” Eggsy asks as they move. He spares a look over his shoulder at Harry. “No offense, but y’ don’t exactly look like the type to get in a gunfight. Y’ get mugged or sumfin?”

 

Even though Harry is dressed in bloodstained clothes and looks haggard, there is still a sense of debonair around him. He carries himself with something more than the smug swagger of all the degenerates that milled around the estates. Eggsy gets the sense that he doesn’t belong here, that he is meant for so much more.

 

How he wound up in the slums, Eggsy wouldn’t know.

 

The question gives Harry pause. He can’t very well admit that he’d been chasing a megalomaniac at the time, or that he was the cause for all this; Eggsy could just kill him on the spot and he wouldn’t even be able to blame him. Shrugging, he moves up closer to him, lowering his voice until it’s unlikely they’ll be overheard. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he says simply. 

 

“Wrong place at the wrong time?” Eggsy snorts derisively. “That’s synonymous for  _ none of y’r damn business _ .”

 

Eggsy doesn’t press for details. If Harry wants to keep his secrets close to his chest, then Eggsy won’t push. As long as he doesn’t pull anything, Eggsy couldn’t care less about what Harry’s life was before the fall. Who was he to judge? Before all this, he spent most of his time scraping his knees against the ground of back alleys as he doled out handies and blow jobs for a few quid.

 

Pasts were better left in the past.

 

Relief that Eggsy drops the subject rushes through Harry. He’d rather not go off on his own but if he’d kept pressing he might have considered it. The last thing he needs is a curious companion who can’t figure out when to let things go. He only needs to stay with him long enough to learn the essentials of surviving the dead and then he’ll be on his way, back to Kingsman to figure out how to clean all this shit up. Better not to get too attached.  

 

Eggsy stops abruptly, hand twitching for his knife. In a flash he drags Harry into an alley and presses him against the wall, using the weight of his own body to hold Harry in place. He turns his head, bowie knife in one hand, and watches the horde shuffle out the opposite end of the street, pouring from the other alleyway.

 

Instantly, Harry tenses, wound complaining as Eggsy presses up against it. He swallows down a hiss of pain, thinking that the younger man better have a good reason for slamming him up against a wall like that. It doesn’t take long for that reason to come into view, a mass of bodies spilling into the street.

 

“Fuck,” Eggsy breathes against Harry’s neck. He looks down the alley, making a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. “Can y’ climb?” Eggsy asks, gaze locked on a fire escape ladder.

 

Harry’s follows Eggsy’s line of sight and nods. “If you let me off this wall, I’ll pull it down.” 

 

Realizing that he’s still pressing Harry into the wall, Eggsy eases off with an apologetic smile. “Sorry.” He steps back to let Harry pull the ladder down, saying, “I knew y’ had to be good for something.” 

 

Once Harry has the ladder down, Eggsy hauls himself up and ascends to the first level. There are multiple rows, leading to the top floor. From there, Eggsy hopes he’ll be able to find their way to an access door and use the rooves.

 

Harry wastes no time in scrambling after Eggsy. As soon as he’s beside him on the first landing, Harry pulls the ladder back up. He doubts the dead are able to climb, but he’s sure that the living are still out there, and not all of them are as friendly as Eggsy.

 

Eggsy waits until Harry is with him, then checks the window next to the fire escape. Luckily, it isn’t locked. Eggsy heaves it open with a grunt, and before slipping into the flat, glances at the sky. A hazy lavender bleeds into watery pink, as if the sky has slit open its wrists and washed the blood away. Darkness is coming faster than Eggsy had estimated.

 

“All right, we gotta pick up the speed,” Eggsy says, moving through the window and the other side of the flat. He doesn’t even allow himself time to loot. He has to remind himself to look back to make sure Harry is following. He takes large, economic steps down the hall, finding his way through until he comes upon a stairwell door.

 

He clambers through, footfalls echoing in the stairwell as he races to the top level where the access door is located. He pushes through and spills out onto the roof, rocks crunching beneath his feet.

 

Eggsy has the advantage of being uninjured and that, combined with his youthful energy, makes it a bit of a struggle for Harry to keep up. He slings the pack off his shoulder without breaking stride, rummaging around until he pulls out a bottle of painkillers. Pausing at the top of the stairwell, he pops the lid, tossing two of them into his mouth before returning the bottle to the pack. 

 

He doesn’t have time to wait until they can fully take effect, just hopes they’ll kick in soon as he heads up the stairs, emerging onto the roof just a few steps behind Eggsy.

 

Eggsy moves to the ledge and tracks the pack that’s slowly ambled down the street. The pack is moving in the direction they need to be going, and the closest building is too far to jump to. His stomach sinks as he realizes they won’t make it back in time. Eggsy kicks the ledge and shouts, “Fuck!”

 

He spins around, accusation burning in his eyes as he looks briefly to Harry, but it deflates no sooner than it rises. This isn’t Harry’s fault. Eggsy chose to rescue him. Eggsy chose to take him along.

 

Eggsy drops down, knees tucked to his chest, and combs his fingers through his greasy hair, trying to think.

 

His mum will be a mess if he doesn’t show. And Daisy. He bites his bottom lip, brows furrowed. His heart is sick with worry. God, his sweet Dais would be destroyed. He rubs his hands down his face.

 

But they can’t keep going, not with the large horde of walkers shambling. Even if they kept low and snuck, it would take too much time. They’d be stranded in the inky darkness of night; the world was terrifying in the day, but at night it was hell.

 

_ I’ll leave first thing in the morning.  _ It was his only option. It wasn’t like Dean would pack up and leave without them. They had nowhere to go, and as far as Dean was concerned, everything was fine where they were at. The Black Prince was the perfect place to ride out the end of the world.

 

Eggsy stands, shoulders tense, but fate accepted, and says, “We should probably hole up here tonight. Go back to the flat. Night’ll be here soon, and we don’t want to be down there when the light goes out.”

 

Harry glances over the edge at the herd of corpses, grimacing and pulling back before one of them thinks to look up. He watches as Eggsy curls in on himself in frustration, a slight twinge of guilt shooting through him. If he hadn’t had to be rescued, he probably could have made it back on time. 

 

“Are they worse at night?” he asks, tilting his head in the direction of the roads. It bothers him just how much he still doesn’t know, but at least holing up in a flat for the night will give them a chance to talk. The more he can find out, the better. It’ll serve him well when he has to strike out on his own.

 

“Not anymore active,” Eggsy answers as he makes his way back downstairs to the original flat they’d broken into. “But it’s harder to locate them, and if you use lights to see around, it’ll attract them.”

 

Harry nods, trailing down the stairs behind him. This time he actually makes note of their surroundings, their pace more reasonable, letting him gather some details. He slips into the flat.

 

Eggsy locks the door behind Harry, hitting the two deadbolts and chainlink. He glances around the dimly lit room, the waning sunlight cutting a deepening path across the porridge-colored carpet. He slides off his crossbow and sets it next to the door, before he rummages around, locating candles and matches, and piling them in the center of a scuffed kitchen table.

 

At least now he’ll be able to thoroughly comb through the flat and find anything that got left behind.

 

First things first: is tending to Harry’s wound.

 

“Sit down,” Eggsy instructs. He vanishes briefly into the bathroom, looking around for awhile, opening and closing cabinet doors and the medicine cabinet, until he finds all their supplies. He gathers it all in an unused linen basket and, along with a clean white towel (slightly dusty, but Eggsy shakes it out), carries it into the kitchen.

 

Obediently, Harry takes a seat on the sofa. It’s an old, ugly thing and it immediately sags underneath his weight. Briefly he wonders who had lived here before. And where they were now.

 

A dusty half-empty pack of water bottles is set at the end of the bar, and Eggsy grabs a bottle, along with a bowl from the kitchen.

 

“Lift y’r shirt up,” Eggsy says and crouches in front of Harry.

 

Slowly, painfully, Harry peels the shirt away. He rucks it up over his shoulders, tossing it to the floor. It’s covered with blood and he’d prefer not to coat the sofa with it as well. The tepid air in the flat is warm enough that he’s comfortable even without it and he’s grateful for the small comfort. 

 

He takes a moment to give himself a quick self-examination. He’s skinnier than he remembers, but he supposes that’s what comes from being in a coma. Hard muscle is still evident beneath it, though, a testament to his decades spent as a Kingsman agent. The bandage is barely clinging to his skin and he peels it the rest of the way off, shoving it into the pocket that isn’t holding the knife. Carefully, he prods at the wound, fingers brushing over it lightly. 

 

For a jarring moment, Eggsy is shot back to those cold nights when he spent hours on his knees. The familiar weight of musky cock on his tongue overwhelmed his senses, replacing the sick that constantly circulated in the air. The last time he’d been in front of a man Harry’s age, had been the night before the world rewrote the laws of biology.

 

Eggsy had known things were going bad; the writing was clear on the wall, painted in blood red, but he also knew that in the beginning there’d still be idiots who thought money was worth something. So Eggsy sucked and fucked his way into a small fortune that he weaseled away from Dean. And thank God he did, because they wouldn’t have lasted as long as they had if Eggsy hadn’t prepared. Dean wasn’t prudent enough to plan ahead. All he’d been concerned with at the time was getting as many flat screens and as much beer as he could.

 

Eggsy shakes his head, dispelling the memories. “Wot did y’ find at the chemist’s?” He reaches for the bag, even as he asks, opening it up and digging through to find painkillers and a few bandages. “Did y’ take some of these already?” He holds up a bottle of Paracetamol .

 

“A couple,” Harry admits. They’re bound to kick in soon, but for now he can still feel a dull ache at the edge of the wound. Even as he thinks about it, it seems to lessen until it is nearly entirely gone and he sinks back against one of the cushions with a soft sigh.

 

Eggsy puts the bottle of painkillers away and turns to the damage in Harry’s side. He’s definitely pulled the stitches, blood soaking through the bandages. “I’ve seen worse,” Eggsy says, half to not worry Harry, and half honestly. Gunshot wounds were about as common as scraped knees in his neck of the woods.

 

It doesn’t slip past Eggsy that Harry is right fit, even for someone who’d been in a hospital bed--and from his lack of knowledge on the undead, Eggsy assumes he’d been in there for quite some time.

 

Eggsy uncaps the bottle of water and pours half into the bowl. He recaps the bottle and sets it aside. “I’m going to clean it, then see if we can get it rebandaged. That sound okay?”

 

Harry nods, eyes sliding half closed. He’s exhausted, having burned through what little energy he’d had left. He needs to eat something and get some solid rest, but his wound is the priority, he knows that much. If it gets infected he won’t be of any use to anyone.

 

If Eggsy focuses on the tasks at hand, he won’t think about his fretting mother and sister. He won’t think about how he let them down, or how Dean is probably crowing away about Eggsy being dead. Dean will be surprised when he returns, though it’ll probably earn him a punch or two.

 

He bites back a sigh and dips the flannel into the bowl, dampening it. Mindful of not pulling the stitches further, Eggsy peels off the bandage. “I remember this time,” Eggsy starts to ramble, filling the void of silence with something other than the creaking of an empty building and cries of the revenant. “My mate Jamal--y’ll meet, him he’s at the Black Prince too--got caught in a driveby. Took one straight to the gut.”

 

It happened when Eggsy was fifteen and Jamal was fourteen, a lifetime ago it felt like , but recalling the memory made it feel as if it were yesterday.

 

“I was with him. Hit the ground faster, I guess. He dropped next to me like a sack of bricks. At first I didn’t realize what had happened, but then I saw the blood and heard his groans.” He pauses, considering. “Wasn’t much different than wot them walkers sound like.”

 

As he talks, Eggsy gingerly dabs at the wound, mindful of not aggravating it and making it bleed further. He mostly just washes away the old blood and what fresh bit glistens on the surface. He uses delicate pats to wipe away the stickiness, the process so familiar it’s almost muscle memory.

 

“Dragged myself to him and held his stomach, trying to stop the bleeding.” Eggsy’s gaze grows vacant as he works. When the blood is cleared, he checks over the stitches, seeing if any had popped. Resolving that they’re intact, he digs through his cache of first aid and pulls out some rubbing alcohol. Eggsy interrupts his story long enough to warn, “This’ll hurt,” before pouring the isopropyl on the wound, using a clean cloth to catch the runoff.

 

The alcohol stings, but it’s a familiar burn and Harry only grimaces, shifting a bit.

 

Eggsy puts the bottle away, and while he lets the alcohol dry, he continues, “I didn’t know much back then about wot to do, but I did know I had to stop the bleeding with compressions. So I pressed on his stomach, and his blood was hot, and he cried… ambulance came, and he’s alive, obviously, but it’s funny, innit? We fought so  _ hard  _ for him to live, only to find ourselves barely alive now.”

 

He applies some antiseptic cream to the wound, then places a fresh bandage over it. He uses the excess water in the bottle to clean his hands. “All done. How’s that?”

 

Harry gets to his feet, stretching out his arms and testing the feel of the wound. “Feels fine,” he says after a moment, dropping back onto the sofa. It groans in protest but he can’t bring himself to care. 

 

A moment of silence passes as he mulls over Eggsy’s story. Clearly, he doesn’t come from the best background and he looks it too. There’s a roughness to his features, something in his eyes that explains how he’s survived for so long in a world like this. A question burns on the tip of his tongue but he doesn’t know if he can bring himself to ask it, not yet.

 

However, the silence that settles over them is oppressive and eventually he clears his throat, reaching for the shirt on the floor to give him something to look at other than Eggsy. “How did… all this start?” 

 

Eggsy doesn’t answer right away. He takes some time to compartmentalize his thoughts, organizing events and worries into different categories. He cleans up his mess, putting what they need to keep away, and then setting the soiled towels and basket aside in a corner. He carries the brownish water into the sink and dumps it.

 

“Honestly? I don’t know,” Eggsy confesses, placing the bowl down and resting both of his hands on the counter. For a moment he just stares into the chrome sink, ringed with residue. “It began… when an old factory exploded.”

 

Harry’s shoulders sag in what will look like disappointment, relief rushing through him. They don’t know. Of course they wouldn’t know, but it helps him to hear it out loud. Guilt settles low in his gut but what would telling Eggsy do? It would be pointless, so he clamps his lips shut on the confession and prays Merlin will know what to do.

 

Eggsy shoves off the counter and starts to look through the cupboards, hunting for anything they could eat. Most of it is empty--whether from being picked clean or because the family just couldn’t have afforded anything--but he finds a can of soup, only a month past the expiration date, and some peaches in syrup.

 

Pushing off his exhaustion for a little while longer at the sound of clattering in the kitchen, Harry cranes his neck to see what Eggsy has found. His stomach growls at the sight of food, even if it is just canned fruit. He’s had worse.  

 

“Fucking hate peaches,” Eggsy says, setting the cans down. He opens and closes drawers until he finds some utensils and a can opener. “News started reporting attacks a day or so later. There was an influx of sickness, people going to hospitals. It was a trickle effect, y’ know?”

 

He opens the cans and brings them over to the sofa, along with a couple bottles of water. “Bon apetite.”

 

Eggsy takes a couple bites of peaches, grimacing his way through, and then passes Harry the can to swap. “It took a week, tops, for everything to really go tits up. Government came in, started evacuating people. People were fighting, killing--no reason. Not a damn one. The dead, they just… they didn’t stay dead.”

 

Harry makes a grab for the can almost embarrassingly quickly. The sweet, syrupy peach normally wouldn’t be too appealing but he thinks it might be the best thing he’s ever tasted. He digs out a couple of slices, setting the can down on the floor within easy reach of them both, seizing a water bottle right after.

 

Eggsy’s words filter in and his appetite dies a little, crushed under the desire to spill what he knows. Which isn’t, he realizes now, everything. He’d released the virus, yes, but none of them had known that it could do  _ this _ . Reanimation of the dead was supposed to be fiction. Somehow, apparently, Valentine had found a way to make it reality. 

 

Eggsy looks down at his food, not hungry, but knowing he needs to eat. Eggsy shrugs and shoves a spoonful of soup into his mouth. “Took three weeks for it all to become hell. Government fell, communication went down, grids were cut off. I don’t know if this localized, or widespread, or what. No one knows anything. Government just kind of gave up, and now here we are.”

 

And now here they are. Cooped up in some flat, brought together by circumstance and necessity. Harry itches to get to Kingsman headquarters, suddenly longing for the wide-open countryside where one can see for miles.

 

Eggsy takes a long pull from his water, then sets the bottle down. “So y’ got family or anything? Anyone who might be worried?”

 

He doesn’t say that they’re likely dead. Anyone that didn’t make it out, that couldn’t afford to escape, or was too stupid, likely was either sequestered beneath a building barely scraping by, or a walker.

 

“No family,” Harry says, shaking his head. None that were alive before all this, anyways. He supposes they might be now, but that’s a possibility he’d rather not think about. As for people who might be worried about him, he could only think of Merlin. He would have tried to get ahold of Harry as soon as he was shot, he knew that much. Harry had no idea if there had been enough time for Merlin to determine his location before the place had been blown to hell. But if he had managed to, that’s where he would go, that’s where he would look for Harry. 

 

He straightens up, a plan taking shape in his mind. Eggsy will still be useful for a few days. He needs a place to hole up, get his bearings, scrape together some supplies, but then he can be off. He’ll make for the factory and hope Merlin managed to make it there too. It’s slim, but it’s all he has. 

 

“What about you?” Harry asks, burying his sudden sense of excitement under a veil of curiosity. “Who’s waiting for you back at the Black Prince?” 

 

“I’m one of the lucky ones,” Eggsy acknowledges. He isn’t stupid, he knows people lost family, friends, and lovers during the downfall, and there was still very much a possibility someone he cares about could die. But for now? Now he has them, and he plans on doing  _ everything  _ in his power to protect them. “Me mum and lil sis are waiting for me, and me mates, Jamal and Ryan.” He pauses, then adds with a grimace, “Course there’s also Dean, my step dad, and some of his crew.”

 

It was clear from the disdain dripping from his voice that Dean and co weren’t lumped in the same category as his mum and sister.

 

Eggsy sets the soup can down when he’s had his fill, enough left for Harry, and takes a few more bites of the peaches. They squish in his mouth, overly saturated with the sticky syrup, but he swallows them down, grateful just to have something in his belly.

 

Harry raises the soup can to his lips, tilting his head back and savoring the lukewarm liquid. It doesn’t do much more than the peaches but at least his stomach doesn’t feel like it’s eating itself anymore.

 

“I don’t know who’s luckier, me or y’. Jamal, he lost his nan.” Eggsy doesn’t go into detail, but he could still hear her screams as the undead tore into her stomach, her skin ripping like wet paper beneath their hands. “Ryan, he doesn’t know anything about his family. Fucking Schrodinger’s cat, it is. He thinks they made it out, but who knows?”

 

“Who knows?” Harry mutters, idly running his thumb along the edge of the can. Being stuck in a coma certainly wasn’t ideal, but it did mean he’d at least missed the inevitable first wave of panic and confusion, people struggling to figure out what was going on even as it happened. The downside was that he had to instead insert himself into a world that had reformed itself with new rules, casting the old one aside.

 

Eggsy finishes his water and nudges the rest of the food towards Harry. “Eat. Y’ need to get your strength up.”

 

Harry wants to resist, be a gentleman and insist that Eggsy get his fair share, but hunger overwhelms him again and he reaches for the peaches.

 

Eggsy yawns, jaw popping, and stretches his arms over his head. “Fuck, I’m beat.” He stands and eyes the window, trying to gauge if anything can climb up. He trusts the door to hold under the deadbolts and locks, and while walkers couldn’t climb ladders, bandits could.

 

“I’ll keep a watch out,” Eggsy announces, fetching his crossbow. He settles on the floor, back propped against the side of the sofa, and studies the window. “Y’ rest. Y’re still getting y’r energy back.”

 

Harry shakes his head. “I won’t be able to sleep anyways and you look exhausted. If I’m about to nod off I’ll wake you, but rest while you can,” he says, steel in his voice. 

 

He’s prepared to turn this into an argument if he has to. Eggsy looks dead on his feet and the combination of pain and hunger, to say nothing of the adrenaline still pumping through his veins from his earlier attack, isn’t likely to let Harry settle in for a night of rest. 

 

Eggsy blinks owlishly up at him, and for a moment he considers fighting him over it. He knows the best thing for injuries is rest, especially when they have so much territory to cover tomorrow, but he’s also exhausted. He nods. “Fine, wake me in two hours if y’ aren’t already nodding off.”

 

Harry nods, heaving himself off the sofa and starting to make his way through the flat. He finds what he’s looking for in the small dining room off of the kitchen, an analog clock ticking away on the wall. Noting the time, he drifts back into the sitting room, positioning an armchair to give him a good view of both the door and the window.

 

Eggsy doesn’t move from his position, curling in around his crossbow like it’s a teddy bear. He doesn’t keep a finger on the trigger, but it’s still close enough that if he has to, he can point and shoot. It isn’t the most comfortable position, but it isn’t the first time he’s slept like this, ready to attack.

 

It doesn’t take long for Eggsy to nod off. As soon as he slips into unconsciousness, his features smooth, the crease furrowing his brow relaxing, his supple mouth dropping open as he snores lightly. There’s a flush to his cheeks from all the running, and as his head lulls to the side, the small mole on his throat is visible.

 

There isn’t much to see outside the window, the flat being high enough up that Harry can’t see any of the dead stumbling through the streets. Moonlight glints off the glass windows of the building opposite, obscuring anything that might be lurking inside it, watching them back. That thought makes Harry uneasy and he eventually gets up to tug the blinds closed, careful not to get close enough to Eggsy to disturb him. 

 

He reclaims his seat once that’s done, but then there’s even less to look at. His eyes drift over to his companion, memories of times when he’d slept in similar positions flooding him. He knows all too well what it feels like to constantly be hunted, nerves strained to the breaking point with the ever present possibility of discovery. Grimacing in sympathy, he wrenches his eyes away, forcing himself to watch the door instead of the gentle rise and fall of Eggsy’s chest. 

 

Minutes stretch into hours and finally his two are up. He sways when he stands, has to catch himself on the arm of the chair to keep from collapsing back into it. Eggsy was right, he needs rest. Harry moves to stand in front of his sleeping form, cautiously reaching out a hand and placing it on his shoulder, shaking him slightly to wake him up.

 

Eggsy has his knife out in a flash, ready to strike Harry, but freezes at the last second. He blinks rapidly, sleep still fogging his eyes. For a few tense seconds he watches Harry, as if he doesn’t even really see him, and then his vision clears and he lowers the knife.

 

Harry relaxes as the knife falls away from him, mentally reminding himself to keep some distance between the two of them when he wakes Eggsy up next. 

 

“Sorry,” Eggsy mumbles. He licks his chapped lips, offering a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and sheathes the knife. “My turn?”

 

Harry nods, moving to stretch out on the sofa. He’s already half-asleep by the time he closes his eyes, giving into the exhaustion that’s been dragging at him for so long.

 

Eggsy stands, spine groaning in protest, and stretches his arms above his head until his muscles pull taut. His shirt hikes up, revealing a triangle of sun-kissed abs, and a small golden trail of hair vanishing into his waistband. He drops his arms, the glimpse of flesh vanishing.

 

He knuckles some of the sleep from his eye as he fetches a bottle of water. He has to piss, and for a second he isn’t sure where he should go, and then he decides to just open the window and step out onto the fire escape. When he finishes, he slips back in and shuts the window, hitting the locks.

 

“I’ll wake y’ at dawn,” Eggsy says and walks over to the chair, collapsing into it, limbs leaden and lethargic. He could sleep for another twenty hours, if he was able to. “How are y’ feeling?”

  
Vaguely, Harry registers Eggsy words. It takes him a couple seconds to puzzle them out and another to crack open an eye, glancing over at him lazily. “Tired,” he mumbles. “But better. See you at dawn.” His eye slides closed again, breath evening out until he’s well and truly asleep, one hand stuffed in his pocket, curling around his hidden weapon.


	3. Dependence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Eggsy come across an unexpected someone.

Dawn comes slowly. Eggsy’s left for hours watching Harry and listening to his own thoughts. He takes the opportunity to observe Harry unguarded; he’s handsome, with a sharp jaw softened slightly by age, a regal nose, and soft lashes that kiss his cheeks.

 

There’s something almost pure about about him--he hasn’t been tarnished by this world, by the blight that's slowly eaten through humanity. But beneath that thin veil of innocence, Eggsy senses a danger and violence. There’s hidden strength pulsing under Harry’s muscles, and it’s thrilling and terrifying and Eggsy doesn’t know why it makes his stomach twist.

 

When the first shafts of sunlight slide across the room, Eggsy calls out, “Time to go.”

 

Harry’s eyes flicker open immediately at the sound of his voice, muscles tensed and ready for a fight. He’s aware enough not to pull his knife and he relaxes again as soon as he realizes there isn’t any threat. Stifling a yawn, he hauls himself into a sitting position, wincing as his side throbs. The pills he’d taken had worn off while he slept and he gropes for the small knapsack. 

 

One of the water bottles from the previous night is still half full and he takes a swig, washing down two more pills before he pushes himself off the sofa. 

 

Eggsy packs as much water as they can carry, and finds two granola bars a month past their expiration date. He tosses one to Harry as he climbs out the window, and after confirming the coast is clear, makes his way down the ladders.

 

Reflexively Harry reaches to catch it, following Eggsy out the window. He does a quick sweep of his own before climbing down the ladder himself.

 

It’s quiet. Not even the birds sings. The only sound is the ever present rustling of feet and the muffled groans that oscillate through the city. Eggsy lets out a tremulous breath, searching the street for any walkers, then starts towards the Black Prince.

 

Exhaustion dogs his mind. Two hours of sleep wasn’t enough, but the crisp, cool morning wakens him enough to sharpen his senses -- so does the layer of fear.

 

London isn’t supposed to be this quiet, Harry thinks as he unwraps the granola bar. The only sound is the crinkle of the wrapper and it’s as loud as breaking glass. Harry devours the granola bar, his stomach past the point of discomforting.. 

 

Eggsy considers trying to make small talk, but his mind goes blank. It feels wrong to ask about Harry’s life before this. No one wants to dredge up the past, to remind themselves of what had been and what they lost. And from the little bit Eggsy could glean from Harry, he was keeping everything else close to the chest.

 

Eggsy stops occasionally to inspect a car or when he thinks he hears walkers, crossbow posed to attack. They reach the halfway point to the Black Prince by mid-morning. Eggsy’s muscles ripple with tension as he surveys the street..

 

Someone screams in the distance. It’s sharp and desperate and sends a spike of terror through Eggsy. He glances at Harry, then races towards the sound. For as smart and cautious as he is, he still has trouble abandoning people. He just  _ can’t _ .

 

No one should be forgotten in this world.

 

Harry’s head whips around in the direction of the sound, eyes narrowing as Eggsy runs off. His apparent sense of duty is what saved Harry in the first place, but it could very well wind up getting them killed. With a short curse, he takes off after him, the painkillers allowing him to run without having to worry about his injury.

 

Eggsy turns a corner and comes to a stop, his eyes widening. A swarm of undead surrounds a car. It looks like the pack from the previous night, but then again, all the walkers look the same. On top of the small, rocking Saab is a woman fighting to keep the walkers from overwhelming the car and capsizing it. She beats furiously at the closest zombies with a stick, dancing out of reach. But there are too many, and they’re hungry, and their hands are greedy, and it’s like watching a butterfly fight to not be pinned.

 

“Fuck,” Eggsy whispers, and he knows they can’t save her, that they should turn around because it’s a lost cause, but just like when he couldn’t abandon Harry, he can’t turn his back on her.

 

“I do hope you’re not thinking of doing something rash,” Harry hisses, slipping behind him. He keeps his voice low, not wanting to bring the pack swarming down on them. Even as he speaks, his hand slips into his pocket, fingers brushing against the knife as if to reassure himself it’s still there. “We can’t save her; you don’t have enough arrows to take them all out long-range and you saw how well I fought against those things.” 

 

“Than stay here and keep out of the way,” Eggsy says, heart pounding in his ears. He isn’t going to abandon her.

 

The woman screams again, the sound breaking into a desperate sob. “Please! Someone!”

 

It cracks against Eggsy like a whip. He swallows and scans the street. Harry is right, he doesn’t have enough arrows. But he can’t just turn away and pretend he hadn’t heard anything.

 

Would  _ he _ want that?

 

Eggsy takes off, running along the side of the street, close to the buildings. His gaze is set on a car in the distance, far enough away from the Saab being swallowed by undead. It’s an SUV, an expensive black one that has been covered by a layer of dust and bird shit from sitting outside. He takes the butt of his crossbow and slams it into the window.

 

A loud, ear piercing alarm rips through the street. The high whirr is a beacon, calling the undead over.

 

_ So much for not doing anything rash. _ Harry throws himself forwards, taking cover in the small recess of a shop doorway. 

 

The walkers turn to the sound, ravenous eyes seeking the noise. Eggsy doesn’t wait, he runs. A few of the walkers spot him and turn from their pursuit of the SUV. He swings his crossbow onto his back and withdraws his knife, stabbing the heads of the walkers, efficiently taking them out.

 

There are a few still lingering by the Saab, making feeble ploys to reach the sobbing woman. Eggsy gets them from behind, slamming the bowie knife up into their skulls and dropping them like sacks of potatoes.

 

He holds his hand out to the woman and yells, “Come on!”

 

She takes his hand, hesitating briefly. Eggsy drags her behind him, knowing the undead won’t be held off for long. As he passes Harry, he orders, “Let’s go!”

 

Harry follows after him, risking a glance behind. The walkers are slowly turning away from the abandoned vehicle, shuffling in their direction.

 

Eggsy doesn’t stop running until they’re a block away. Only then does he let go of the woman’s hand. He sets his hands on his knees and leans over, panting.

 

“T-thank you,” the woman says, breathing heavy and short. “I-I thought I was a gonner.”

 

Eggsy sheathes his knife and turns to her. Her dirty cheeks are tear streaked and her blonde hair is a tangled mess. An expensive pearl necklace is strung around her neck, the only clue as to who she’d been before the rise.

 

“No problem,” Eggsy says, but then his creeping smile falls as his gaze lands on a bite mark. “Y’re bit.”

 

Cold dread drops in Eggsy’s stomach. He reaches for his knife, but pauses. She’s about his mum’s age. Thin crows feet streak her eyes. He knows what has to be done, but at the same time he can’t bring himself to do it.

 

The woman looks at her right arm. She swallows thickly, hovering her hand over the bleeding bite. It’s angry and deep and very clearly a human bite--a walker bite.

 

“I-It’s fine,” she says. “It’ll heal.” 

 

Eggsy shakes his head. “Y’ll turn.” It comes out small, and he looks to Harry. If it had been anyone else, maybe he’d be able to do it, but staring at this nameless woman, seeing his mother, he can’t kill her.

 

He still doesn’t know how long it takes. A few minutes. An hour. It varies with each person he’s seen, and he wonders if it’s based on how deep the wound is.

 

“I’m sorry,” Eggsy whispers, but even as he says it, fingers knuckling around the grip of his knife, he does nothing.

 

Harry’s eyes flick back and forth between the two of them. His mind flashes back to the bite mark in the back of the nurse’s leg and the jagged hole in the man’s neck. This woman will become like them if they don’t do something. It could happen at any time, as far as he knows. Eggsy hasn’t told him how long the process takes and yet he’s standing there staring at her, hand curled around his knife but doing nothing. 

 

It seems a waste to kill her after Eggsy risked his life to save her, but he can’t let her turn on them either. Not letting himself think, he plunges his hand into his pocket, tugging out the switchblade and flicking it open in one smooth motion. He steps behind her, heavy hand landing on her shoulder. There’s just enough time to see a spark of surprise in her eyes as she turns to face him before he’s swinging the knife forward, driving it through her eye. 

 

Her mouth falls open in a soundless shriek, limp body falling to the ground as he releases her. He bends down to wipe the knife clean on the hem of her shirt. Harry straightens, flicking the switchblade closed and returning it to his pocket before glancing at Eggsy. “You shouldn’t have gone after her,” he says, but there’s no real anger behind the words, just a hollow disappointment.

 

For a small, unsuspecting moment, the disappointment in Harry’s voice hurts. It’s as if Eggsy has failed him, and he doesn’t like the idea of failing Harry.

 

But then it’s all swept away in a wash of anger and surprise. He stares at the woman, blood oozing from her eye, mouth hanging open. He squeezes his eyes shut, as if he could stop the image from burning into his brain, and then he opens them with a flash of rage.

 

“Y’ bastard!” Eggsy yells, shoving Harry in the shoulder, uncaring about his wound. “Why did y’ do that? She deserved better than that!”

 

Harry stumbles back a step, but he doesn’t react further, keeps his anger in check. Eggsy is young, probably not used to killing the living either. Besides, Harry was bound to reveal his true nature eventually. Probably better to do it sooner rather than later.

 

Eggsy didn’t even know her, didn’t know her name, but he knew she deserved better. They  _ all  _ deserved better.

 

“Unfortunately,” Harry says, and there’s a thin undercurrent of steel in his voice, “what she did or did not deserve doesn’t factor into our survival.” 

 

Eggsy chokes back a howl of anguish, fury lighting his features. For a second he thinks of hitting Harry, but he restrains himself, instead whispering harshly, “Y’ can’t do that.”

 

But Harry can, and Eggsy should have. Eggsy should have been the one to kill her.

 

His gaze flicks to the weapon Harry’s holding, and he realizes that Harry had been armed all along. He points at the switchblade, wave after wave of anger rolling over him. It practically comes off him in whispers of steam. “Where did y’ get that?”

 

Was Harry planning on using it on him?

 

He killed that woman with ease, without a flicker of remorse or hesitation. Eggsy’s grip is back on his bowie knife, his hackles rising as he watches Harry.

 

It’s only then that Harry realizes he’s still holding the knife. He drops it back into his pocket, raising his hands with his palms open to show that he means no harm. “I found it in the car we came across,” he confesses. “I didn’t know who you were or what you might do and I thought it best to be prepared. Surely you can’t blame me for that.” He casts a pointed glance down at where Eggsy’s hand rests on his own knife.

 

Something hollow settles in Eggsy’s gaze. He swallows down the last bit of bile and rage, stating flatly, “No, I guess I can’t.”

 

This world isn’t so different from the old, when Eggsy thought long and hard about it. Everyone is out for themselves. No one cares about the smaller or weaker. The only difference between this and the last, is that the dead don’t stay dead.

 

For a second Eggsy considers telling Harry to fuck off. Who’s to say Harry won’t turn on one of his own as quickly as he turned on that woman? He knows he’s being irrational, that Harry did what was right, what needed to be done, but it doesn’t stop it from hurting. From watching life bleed from the woman’s eyes--quite literally--and knowing he can’t do anything.

 

He crouches down, temporarily ignoring Harry, and fishes through her wallet. At first glance it might seem like he was trying to loot her body. He doesn’t go for the pearls, though, even though he knows his mum would appreciate them, and this would be the only way she’d ever own something so refined. He finds her wallet, skips over the cash shoved into the flap. There’s a lot of cash there, maybe even enough to buy their way if needed. But currency isn’t really of use anymore. Only the truly stupid still accepted cash, clinging to the false hope that society would rebuild itself.

 

Eggsy extracts her license and studies it. “Matilda. Matilda Davenport was her name. She was forty-three.” A year younger than his mum.

 

Harry watches coolly as he rummages through the few belongings she has, dipping his head in acknowledgement of the name. He’s not heartless; he doesn’t feel good about killing her, but he knows that it was a necessity. It’s always been a necessity, even before the world changed.

 

Eggsy pockets the license without a word, then places the wallet back into the woman’s pocket and carefully drags her body out of the way. There isn’t much he can do for her by way of a funeral, so he settles with lying her on a piece of broken down cardboard. At one time the stock of board would have been perfect for breakdancing.

 

Eggsy arranges her hands so they’re folded neatly across her chest, then stands. He spares Harry a brief look, once more debating if he should bring Harry back. He can’t fault him for wanting to arm himself--in this world, you need to--but he also knows that he can’t risk his family. He couldn’t give a shit about Dean, but Daisy and his mum? Jamal and Ryan? They depended on him.

 

The hollowness recedes, filling with a fire that threatens to consume the entire city. “Y’ can still come, but we’re going to get one thing straight, y’ hear me, guv? Y’ threaten my family, y’ hurt anyone I care about, and I’ll kill y’.”

 

Eggsy points at Matilda. “Her? She don’t deserve that. But don’t confuse my hesitance for weakness. I’ll have an arrow between y’r eyes faster than y’ can blink if y’ hurt one of my own. Y’ got me?”

 

Harry tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowed. He gives him a long, slow nod after a minute, letting his hands fall back to his side. “I’m not planning on hurting your family. I wasn’t planning on killing Ms. Davenport either, but she became a threat and I don’t know about you, but I’d like to survive.”

 

More than that, he  _ needs _ to survive. He doesn’t know what state Kingsman is in, but they’re going to need everyone they can get if they hope to find anything to fix this. 

 

Eggsy’s anger would be more concerning if he wasn’t planning on sneaking off on his own later; the less chance there is of anyone coming after him, the better.

 

Eggsy scoffs and says, “Somehow I get the feeling y’ were a heartless bastard before this.” He isn’t going to pry, and part of Eggsy still doesn’t want to, but he senses there’s something about Harry that isn’t  _ normal _ . “Are y’ military?”

 

“Something like that,” Harry confirms. 

 

Eggsy starts heading towards the Black Prince. The few undead that shambled away from the car are getting too close, and he takes quick steps, losing them in a network of streets, before he starts on the right path.

 

It irks Harry that he has to rely entirely upon Eggsy to get them where they’re going but he falls into step behind him nevertheless. He won’t be getting to the Black Prince without him.


	4. A Night of Their Own

They reach the Black Prince by the afternoon. Eggsy’s stomach has begun to eat itself, gnawing at his intestines like a dog with a bone. He ignores the hunger pangs as he slips in through the rigged door, hoping Dean hasn’t gone through all of their food supplies yet.

 

The place doesn’t look like much from the outside. There’s little fortification and they walk right up to it without being stopped from anyone who might be acting as a guard. Harry’s eyes narrow, unimpressed. It doesn’t seem like this would hold up against a mob of walkers, let alone any living people who might get it into their heads to attack. 

 

Still, Eggsy and whoever else is staying in there have lasted this long, so he figures there must be something to it. At least it’s better than spending the night in the open.

 

Everything is boarded up. The doors are blocked, except for a single passage in the back which is accessed with a bit of finagling. Eggsy stumbles in, dead on his feet, and calls, “Mum!”

 

He goes through the back, which has been converted into a bedroom of sorts with blankets and pillows and sleeping bags scattered and nested. Bags and knapsacks are in corners, supplies thin and spread throughout the kitchen. It’s a mess, the heavy scent of trash and filth and week old BO lingering in the air.

 

Harry doesn’t find the inside any more appealing than the outside. He glances around at the dirt and grime coating every surface, lip curling slightly. He’s been in worse places, but he’s relieved he doesn’t plan on staying long-term.

 

Eggsy shrugs off his crossbow and sets it down against the wall. His shoulders protest from the strain of carrying the heavy weapon.

 

“Let me do all the talking, yeah?” Eggsy says as he shoves through the swinging door to the front of the bar. Thin shafts of light stream in through the slits in the boards covering the windows.

 

Harry gives him a brief nod, unsure of what these people are going to be like. He’d hate to ruin his chance of staying with them by misspeaking. 

 

There’s the rank skunky scent of weed wafting throughout the building, and it floats in tendrils of smoke past Eggsy.

 

“Oh baby!” Michelle cries when she spots Eggsy, but she’s stopped by Dean’s hand on her shoulder when she goes to embrace him. Ryan and Jamal, who are sitting in the far corner polishing guns, shoot to their feet.

 

Instantly Harry tenses, hand falling to his pocket. He forces himself to relax a second later, knowing they must be part of Eggsy’s group. Still, he keeps a wary eye on them, ready to defend himself if need be.

 

“Bruv, y’re alive!” Ryan cries as Jamal says, “Fucking hell, y’ scared us!”

 

“Well if it ain’t Muggsy,” Dean mocks. He takes a hit of his joint and passes it to Rottie, a thin, rattish man with a mop of brown hair. “We thought y’ were walker food. Guess y’re more of a roach than we expected.”

 

The words ping off him like pebbles. The sting has long since dulled.

 

Harry’s attention slides off of the two younger men and onto Dean. The man doesn’t look like he’d been of much use even before the world ended. From the look of his red-rimmed eyes and the smoke surrounding him and his companion, he’s not made much of a change.

 

“I brought some stuff back, mum,” Eggsy says, not even sparing Dean a glance. “Where’s Dais?”

 

“Right here, babe,” Michelle says, and Eggsy sees his little sister crawl out from under the bar table. Michelle’s gaze shifts past Eggsy’s shoulder to Harry. “Who’s he?”

 

Harry opens his mouth to answer but there’s a sudden surge of movement in the corner of his eye.

 

Dean seems to realize Harry is there too and shoves to his feet. “Wot’s this, Muggsy? Y’ bringing more mouths back for us to feed? And did y’ find anything to cover it?”

 

Not him, it. To Dean, all Harry was was another mouth. Harry’s lips thin and he has to fight to bite back a few choice words. He’d promised Eggsy could do the talking, after all.

 

“It’s fine.” Eggsy assures, shifting in front of Harry as if to protect him. “He was surrounded--I couldn’t leave him.”

 

“Dammit, Muggsy! Y’ piece of shite. Wot did I tell y’? Bring no one back. We don’t got enough for anyone else--it’s y’r food he’ll be covering!” Dean’s in front of Eggsy in a second, cuffing him across the face with a blinding slap. Eggsy moves with the blow to lessen the pain--it’s clear it isn’t the first time he’s been slapped around.

 

Dean shoves Eggsy out of the way, knocking him into a bar stool. “So who are y’, grandad? Tell me why I shouldn’t send y’ and this cocksucker back out there to be walker bait?”

 

Harry refrains from saying anything, matching Dean’s glare with an impassive stare despite acidic words burning on the tip of his tongue.

 

Eggsy flushes. “Leave him alone, Dean.”

 

Dean shoves a finger in Eggsy’s face. “Shut it, Muggsy!”

 

Eggsy clenches his jaw, but snaps his mouth shut.

 

“Wot did y’ bring back?” Dean demands, attention shifting away from Harry.

 

Eggsy holds up the children’s bag. “Some medicine and water. Bit o’ clothes for Dais, and a toy.”

 

“A toy? A fucking toy? Does it look like we need a goddamn toy?” Dean bellows and smacks Eggsy in the head, not once, but three times, rattling his skull as if he’s trying to pound in the fact. “Think, boy! Wot are we goin’ to do with a toy?”

 

“Leave ‘im alone, Dean!” Michelle cries.

 

“Shut it, Chell!” Dean snaps at her, and Eggsy can see Daisy starting to tear up.

 

Eggsy tosses his mum the bag and says, “I’ll go back out, I’ll get some food.” It’s the only thing that placates Dean. The hollowness that had filled Eggsy’s green eyes earlier that morning returns, the dull acceptance that this was his life: he was fighting the living and the dead.

 

“Yeah, y’ fucking will.” Dean shoots Harry a withering glare, but turns and stomps back to his seat. “Useless shite. First y’ bring an extra mouth, and then y’ bring no food.”

 

“I’ll leave in the morning--” Eggsy starts, cut off immediately by Dean hissing, “Like ‘ell y’ will. Y’ll go now. We’re running low, down to our last few cans.”

 

Eggsy opens his mouth to argue. He’s exhausted. Famished. And mentally drained. Going out would be a death warrant, but so was staying in.

 

“If you’ll excuse my saying so, there doesn’t seem to be much point in sending Eggsy out now,” Harry says dryly. “He’s not likely to find anything in the state he’s in and could wind up getting himself killed. Given that there’s a shortage of able-bodied men nowadays, you might want to reconsider throwing away one of the few you have.” 

 

Dean shifts his gaze to Harry and narrows his eyes. Eggsy winces, mentally cursing Harry for opening his damn mouth.

 

“That so? Well if this bitch can’t go out there, than why don’t y’?” Dean asks, puffing out his chest and pushing his shoulders back.

 

“It’s fine--” Eggsy starts, shooting Harry a warning glare, “Leave ‘im Dean. He can’t go out there. Look I’ll go, okay? Just, just give me a couple minutes. Yeah?”

 

“ _ Please, _ Dean,” Michelle pleads, her red rimmed eyes moist.

 

Eggsy’s gut jerks. He hates seeing his mother cry.

 

Dean huffs and eyes Harry up and down once more, before grumbling under his breath about useless slags, and stomps back over to Poodle and Rottie. Eggsy walks over to Daisy and crouches to her level. “Oh my Dais, look at y’. Y’ve gotten so big since I was gone.”

 

Eggsy offers her a smile, and her wobbling bottom lip stills. Eggsy accepts the bag he brought from his mum and opens it, fishing out the teddy bear. “Look wot I got y’. It’s a Paddington.”

 

Daisy accepts it with a wary smile, glancing over at Dean as if she expected him to steal it away. Eggsy kisses her forehead and whispers, “Be good for y’r big bruv while he’s gone, yeah?”

 

She bobs her head, ringlets bouncing, and reaches for him when he stands. “‘Ggsy.”

 

“I’ll be back, flowah,” Eggsy promises.

 

“Harry, can y’ come wif me?” Eggsy asks as he passes him. He moves back into the back, heading towards the exit. There’s a drag in each step, as if lead weights have been strapped to his feet. He doesn’t stop though, picking back up his crossbow and slinging it back over his shoulder.

 

Briefly, Harry weighs his options. He can stay cooped up in here with complete strangers, one of whom he’s already stirred up a conflict with, or he can plunge back out into a corpse-filled world with little sleep and fading energy. He watches Eggsy move to leave before heading after him. If it’s food Dean’s worried about, they’ll just have to give him a reason not to worry. 

 

Eggsy doesn’t say anything as he slips back outside. He waits long enough to make sure Harry is with him, then starts down the street. He doesn’t go far, only a couple blocks to some rundown concrete flats.

 

Harry follows after him warily, switchblade out and at the ready. There’s no point pretending he doesn’t have it anymore and he’d prefer to be able to help if it comes to a fight.

 

Along the way Eggsy kills a couple walkers without flinching, though there’s an obvious strain in his arms as he lifts the crossbow and fires. He pushes forward, a dog desperate to please his master, and continues until they come to the back, where layers of balconies are stacked like stairs.

 

Eggsy seems to know where he’s going, because he stops randomly in front of one of the complexes and digs through the dying bushes.

 

“Can y’ climb?” Eggsy asks, brandishing some thick rope. He swings it, tossing a loop up to the third balcony. It catches and holds as he gives a firm tug. “If not, go around the front and I’ll unlock the door.”

 

Harry’s about to say that he’s perfectly capable of climbing when he remembers his injury. Best not to strain it if he doesn’t have to. He prefers to heal sooner rather than later. Swallowing his pride, he heads around to the front of the complex, waiting for Eggsy. 

 

Eggsy starts to climb, the cords of muscles in his arms bunching and bulging as he scales the rope nimbly. He reaches the third balcony in record time, swinging over the high concrete ledge. It’s separated by two high walls, acting as barriers between the two flanking balconies.

 

At the front of the estates, a walker lurches out of the shadows towards Harry. He whips around to face it, eyes narrowing. He lets out a measured breath, leaping forwards and gripping it around the neck. Its arms reach for him, but he drives his knife into the top of its skull before it has a chance to touch him, stepping back as it topples to the ground. 

 

Eggsy opens the back door and walks through the flat to the front, opening it for Harry. The flat is musty, covered in a layer of dust, with traces of a former life scattered around it. Pictures on the walls. Booze tucked in corners. Boxes of electronics stacked on top of expired Red Bulls.

 

The sofa is over stuffed and the chair ready to burst at the seams, and there are rings on the table, but it feels more like home than the Black Prince ever could.

 

Supplies are gathered at one side of the apartment, boxes of canned food and non-perishables. Bottles of water are beside it.

 

Harry steps inside with a sigh of relief, wiping the knife clean on on the sofa before putting it up. If Eggsy thinks this place is safe, then he’s willing to trust him on it.

 

Eggsy closes the door behind Harry, locks it, and then shoves a barrier in front of the door for extra protection.

 

“Dean doesn’t know about this place,” Eggsy explains. “If he knew about all this, him and his mutts would go through the food in a day. We’ll stay here, rest, and then bring some back in a few hours. He won’t know the difference.”

 

Slightly impressed by just how much Eggsy has managed to amass, and apparently on his own, Harry nods. “I’ll be sure not to say anything.” He’s had enough practice keeping secrets to know that he’ll have no trouble keeping this from Dean. Not that he plans on spending much time talking with him anyways. 

 

Eggsy places  his crossbow down, then removes his holster with the knife. He nods to the food. “Help y’r self.”

 

Harry sorts through the cans and boxes, but he doesn’t take anything. The encounter with the walker has dulled his appetite.

 

Eggsy heads down the hall, walking into a small room cramped with furniture. He fishes out the license from his pocket. He runs his thumb over the glossy surface, studying the small one-by-one picture of Matilda.

 

He sighs, grabs a thing of super glue, and applies some to the back of the card. He presses it against the wall, in a row with another three licenses. There are thirteen in total, in three neat rows, each one varying in age, sex, and ethnicity.

 

Eggsy tosses the super glue on the desk and rubs his jaw, his gaze fixed on the wall. 

 

“Did you really find it necessary to stockpile so much Weetabix?” Harry asks, appearing in the doorway of the room. He shakes a box, grimacing, until he realizes what it is Eggsy’s looking at. He takes in the licenses, eyes catching on the newest addition. Matilda. The woman he’d killed earlier. 

 

Clearing his throat, he moves a step or two further into the room, setting the Weetabix off to one side. “What is this?”

 

Eggsy spares a look at the Weetabix box with a bittersweet smile. He isn’t sure if it’s because of the memorial he’s created on his wall or the cereal. He turns back to the wall and says, “People I couldn’t save. Or I found, abandoned and dead--dead, dead.” He pauses, then whispers, “They deserve to be remembered.”

 

They were all simple, everyday people. An elderly woman with bluish white hair. A twenty-one year old with a toothy grin.

 

Harry stands silently, facing the wall. A collection of faces rises up in his mind but he pushes those thoughts away. His own wall would have considerably more than thirteen people.

 

Eggsy rubs his arm and mumbles, “Come on, let’s get some food and then I’ll look over y’r wound. Afterwards we can kip off for a bit.”

 

He grabs the box of Weetabix and carries it back into the kitchen. He digs through his supplies, finds a can of beans and stewed spinach, grimaces at the selection, but sets about opening them.

 

“I got some water stored, if y’ want to wash up,” Eggsy calls over his shoulder.

 

There were moments in the day where he was overcome with the fact that he adapted so easily to this new world. Eggsy understands it more than the old, sometimes. It’s almost second nature to hoard food, to find alternatives to bathing, to sleeping in tight, scary spaces, constantly watching his back. His life hasn’t changed much beyond the new threat of the undead.

 

For a second the thought of getting all the dust, dirt, and blood off him is almost overwhelmingly appealing to Harry. Then logic kicks in and he just shakes his head. “We shouldn’t waste it. I’ll be fine.”

 

Grimy, but fine. 

 

Eggsy smirks, mirth lighting his eyes, and he says, “Bruv, no offense, but y’re kind of rank. Take the bath.”

 

He walks over to the back door and opens it up, pointing to a giant plastic bin he had rigged up to be a water reservoir. “Ain’t drinking water, it’s bathing water.”

 

Eggsy returns to the kitchen and finishes preparing the food, which is more or less just opening cans and finding utensils to eat with. He flops down on the sofa, sinking into the overly plush cushions, and starts to eat some of the spinach, the can of beans sitting out for Harry.

 

Harry tries to subtly pull his shirt up to his nose and get a whiff, but whatever smell there is, he’s gotten used to it. Still, he slips out the back door and tugs it off, tossing it back inside before sliding the door shut. He scoops up handfuls of water, splashing them over his face and arms, nails digging at the dirt that seems ingrained in his skin. He cleans carefully around his bandage, doing his best to wick off the moisture once he’s as clean as he’s going to get. 

 

He heads back inside, droplets still clinging to his chest, hair damp and starting to curl at the edges. It seems pointless to put his soiled shirt back on after going through the effort to get washed up. “Do you have any clothes stored here, by any chance?”

 

It takes Eggsy a moment to get his brain to function when he looks from his food to Harry. All he sees is hard muscle, thinned from bedrest, but still defined, and water glistening off the curves. He swallows a mouthful of spinach and manages to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Yeah, uh, in the back. I’ve picked up a few things, see if y’ can find something.”

 

He points with his spoon back towards the room with the memorial wall. He forces himself to look away from Harry’s chest, but it only gets worse when he realizes Harry’s hair is curly.

 

His brain is caught on a loop of ‘ _ oh no he’s hot _ ’ and ‘ _ y’ can’t sleep wif him _ ’. Eggsy shifts in his seat, suddenly aware of his own filth and disgust. He shoves spoonfuls of food into his mouth, trying hard not to keep staring at Harry.

 

Harry feels Eggsy’s eyes lingering on him but he chalks it up to the wound that he’d proposed checking on later. The bandage is clean, no blood leaking through, which is a good sign. 

 

Nodding his thanks, he makes his way to the back room. There’s a stack of boxes in one corner, fabric practically spilling it of it. It takes a few minutes of searching to find something that fits well enough, but he eventually picks out a dark cotton, something that will at least somewhat hide blood spatter.

 

He wanders back into the kitchen, shirt held loosely in his hand until he dries off enough to put it back on without it suctioning to his body. 

 

“So military, yeah?” Eggsy says in way of distracting himself from Harry’s glistening chest--really, whose chest glistens? “My dad was a Marine.”

 

Scooping up the can of beans Eggsy’s left out for him, Harry takes hold of a fork, swallowing them down cold. They aren’t the best things he’s eaten but they certainly aren’t the worst. “Was he?” he mutters, not really caring to get into pasts. That could raise too many questions about his own.

 

Sensing Harry doesn’t want to talk, Eggsy clamps his mouth shut and looks away. He finishes his food without further conversation, occasionally shifting in his seat. The silence niggles at his brain, a small rat chewing through cardboard. He hates it. It means he’s alone. It means he can hear the dead lurking about. The vast emptiness means so much. He’s never been good with silence, even as a kid, but now it’s worse.

 

Eggsy opens his mouth a few times to try, just to fill the void, but then he looks at Harry and decides against it.

 

Harry catches a few of the glances out of the corner of his eye, deciding not to comment on them. He can sense Eggsy’s burning desire to break the silence but he just concentrates on finishing off the beans. The less he knows about him, the easier it will be to leave. For both of them. 

 

When Eggsy finishes eating, he throws his can away in a trashcan and wipes off his spoon. He slips outside, not bothering to close the sliding door, and tugs off his own shirt. He grabs a flannel and scrubs hard at the grit and grime, taking it all off in layers. It’s not nearly as clean as he’d like, but it’s better than nothing.

 

The muscles in his shoulders pull and ripple as he turns his back to the door, looking down at the rear of the complex. A few walkers mill around a thin, sickly tree. There are scars on his back, painful ones, asymmetrical. Some have the shape and texture of burns, while others the familiar indentation of brass knuckles. A few thinner ones are clearly knives. All of them old, faded, nearly pearlescent in the afternoon light.

 

Harry pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. He’s been keeping half an eye on him anyways, acting as a self-appointed lookout for any walkers that might come too close, though they’ve been relatively safe there so far. The memory of the one he’d killed out front is too fresh for him to just ignore Eggsy while he’s alone outside. 

 

The scars bring questions bubbling to his lips but he clamps them shut around a mouthful of beans. No point in knowing, he reminds himself.

 

Eggsy finishes wiping down, wrings the cloth out, and lays it out to dry. Eggsy finds his med kit and crouches in front of Harry. He looks up at him, peering through long lashes, and it could be so easy to misconstrue what was happening if it wasn’t for the red box clutched in his hand.

 

“Let’s take a look at y’r wound, make sure it isn’t getting infected,” Eggsy says and opens the kit.

 

Shrugging, Harry sets the can down on the counter, the shirt following after it. “It’s feeling better today, so I would suspect not.” But there’s no harm in checking, especially when he can’t risk an infection. He works his finger under one edge of the adhesive, tugging the whole thing off in one go and glancing down at it. 

 

Eggsy gingerly touches the wound, fingers stroking hard muscle. He furrows his brows as he studies the damage, the flesh slightly red and warm, but that could have easily been from the way Harry had removed the adhesive. He skims his thumb over the stitching, humming to himself, before selecting something from the package. It’s just an alcohol wipe and some antiseptic cream. He cleans the area, then applies more cream and a fresh bandage.

 

This time there’s no burn. Harry takes that as another sign that he’s healing well. 

 

Eggsy’s fingers linger as he smoothes the adhesive, noting how solid Harry is. Christ, for a bloke in his fifties, and someone who just got out of the hospital, he sure looks like he could conquer the whole damn world.

 

A wave of discomfort sweeps over Harry. It hasn’t escaped his notice how Eggsy keeps looking at him, but it isn’t that that makes him uneasy. It’s the tug in his own gut that comes whenever he catches the slight flush on his cheeks or the flex of his muscles as he lifts the crossbow to his shoulder, pure determination in his eyes. 

 

Eggsy swallows thickly, meeting Harry’s eyes. He blinks and shoves to his feet, quickly turning away and putting the supplies back in the kit. If the tips of his ears are burning, he isn’t about to say so.

 

“Well, I’m beat. I think I’ll go to sleep now. There’s another bedroom if y’ want to sleep in it. We’re secure, so y’ should be fine,” Eggsy says. He pauses in the hall, sparing a look back. “G’night Harry.”

 

Harry gives him a small nod. Despite his reassurance that everything is safe, he decides that it isn’t wise for both of them to be sleeping at the same time. He makes for the sofa, settling in as if he intends to just sleep there, but his hand is in his pocket, fingers tracing over the outline of the knife. 

 

Eggsy vanishes into his bedroom, not bothering to close the door. It’s stupid, he knows, especially after seeing what Harry was capable of, but Eggsy trusts him. There’s something in Harry that makes Eggsy feel  _ safe _ and it’s a feeling he hasn’t had in a long time.

 

He crawls into bed, still shirtless and skin damp, and burrows under a nest of blankets that linger with the scent of home. He’s asleep in seconds.

 

Silence settles over them and Harry more than once finds himself close to nodding off. He pulls himself back from the brink of sleep each time, eventually getting up and pacing around the room a few times to keep himself awake. He tries a few experimental jabs with his knife, falling back into the easy rhythm of training he used to know so well. 

 

He hasn’t had any time to himself since he woke up, excepting the couple hours he’d stayed on guard at the flat. He abandons the knife after a while, moving instead into a kata. Hand-to-hand combat might not work so well against the dead, but they aren’t the only threats.


	5. Our Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy and Harry struggle to deal with Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got it up with a few minutes to spare! Hope everyone enjoys the next chapter!

Eggsy sleeps for a few hours. When he wakes, the edge is gone from his exhaustion, though dark circles remain under his eyes. It’s an appearance everyone is going to have to get used to.

 

He comes out of the bedroom, still shirtless, and stretches his arms high above his head, pulling his spine taut until every muscle in his abdomen is visible. He yawns, barely managing to cover his mouth to smother it, and mumbles, “God I miss tea.”

 

When he spots Harry, he briefly tenses, his sleep fogged mind forgetting that he isn’t alone in his little sanctuary. Then he remembers who Harry is and he immediately relaxes. He offers a sleepy, unguarded smile that lights up his entire face.

 

“Get any sleep?” Eggsy asks, slinking over to the food supplies and unearthing a box of protein bars. He tosses Harry one and keeps one for himself.

 

Harry stops his routine, feeling better than he has since he woke and shaking his head. “I didn’t need any,” he says, making for the shirt he’d left on the counter and shrugging into it. “Are you… feeling better?”

 

“Better than before,” Eggsy admits.

 

They’ll need to head back soon. Eggsy can see the dwindling sunlight from the balcony. It’s late in the afternoon, and while the warmer months provide longer hours of daylight, Eggsy knows they can’t risk getting caught outside.

 

As if sensing the path of his thoughts, Harry follows his gaze out the window. “It’s getting late. Your mother might start to worry.” 

 

“Y’re right.” Eggsy goes and finds a clean shirt, slipping it on before he comes out, and says, “Go through the front. I’ll meet y’ around the back.”

 

Nodding, Harry checks through the window to make sure nothing’s waiting for him outside. He determines it’s clear, but pulls out his knife anyway, stepping out and shutting the door firmly behind him. He doesn’t meet anyone, or anything, as he circles around to the back.

 

Eggsy grabs a bag and shoves some food into it, along with some water, and then tosses the bag over the side of the balcony. After Harry leaves, he locks the door and bars it shut, preventing anyone from getting in that isn’t supposed to. He slings his crossbow onto his back and climbs down the rope, which he secures.

 

Eggsy removes the rope, stashes it, and turns to Harry with a smirk. “Ready to go?”

 

He doesn’t want to return to the Black Prince, not when it means facing Dean, but he isn’t about to abandon his Mum and Daisy, or his mates.

 

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Harry lies, half smiling.

 

Eggsy doesn’t know what to say to that--the sad truth is most of them have nowhere else to go.

 

Eggsy leads the way, on guard as they move through the familiar streets. Even though it’s a short jaunt to the Black Prince, Eggsy knows there’s still a possibility that they could be overrun by walkers.

 

There’s a small cluster of walkers near the tavern, but Eggsy makes quick work of them with his bow. He retrieves the arrows from their corpses and opens the doorway, gesturing for Harry to go in. As soon as the way is clear, Harry ducks back into the pub, grimacing at the smell that comes with it.  Eggsy looks back, scanning the surrounding area to make sure they weren’t followed, and then slips in behind Harry.

 

Eggsy didn’t miss the rank of weed. It’s grown stale in the few hours that passed, but with barely any ventilation, and nowhere for the smoke to go, it isn’t a surprise everyone in the group was useless. They’re getting high through secondhand smoke, unable to escape the cloud of stench that Dean produced regularly.

 

Eggsy hesitates in the small alcove of the back, glancing at Harry. “I…” he pauses, snapping his mouth shut. He purses his lips, not sure what he’s saying, but feeling like something needs to be said. Maybe an apology? He seems to do that a lot for Dean.

 

Head tilted slightly to one side, Harry waits for Eggsy to continue, eyes narrowed in confusion. 

 

Eggsy shakes his head and walks into the front, dropping the bag of supplies on the floor. “Here, managed to find some things.”

 

When Eggsy moves on without finishing the statement, Harry watches his retreating back. After a bit he follows after him, slipping silently into the main living space.

 

Rottie and Poodle, a rotund man that wouldn’t last five minutes outside the safety of the tavern, snatch up the bag and start sifting through the rations Eggsy brought.

 

“Not much here,” Rottie scoffs, pulling out cans of beans and mixed vegetables. “Wot is this shite? Creamed chicken? Wot do y’ expect me to do with this?”

 

“I don’t know, bruv. Most people would eat it, but y’ could always try fucking y’r self with it, if that doesn’t suit y’,” Eggsy snarks, disdain dripping from his voice.

 

Rottie clenches the can in his hand, snarling at Eggsy. Dean shoves out of his chair, barking, “Oi, watch the lip, y’ piece o’ shite.” His puce face seems sweatier as the late afternoon heat rolls in, turning the stuffy tavern into a veritable boiler. “Y’ couldn’t find more? Seems y’ had enough time to find a clean shirt, didn’t y’? Or were y’ too busy on y’r knees, getting the reach around with grandad to take care of y’r family?”

 

Eggsy flushes, refusing to look back at Harry guiltily. He bites down on his cheek, anger bubbling in his veins, and asks, “Where is everyone?”

 

Harry doesn’t react much to the comment beyond a slight tensing of his shoulders, not wanting to give Dean the satisfaction of seeing him nettled. He’ll remember those words, though, for Eggsy’s sake as well as his own.

 

Dean scoffs and waves his hand limpidly in a vague direction behind him. “Y’r mum is washing y’r sister.”

 

“Jamal and Ryan?” Eggsy presses.

 

“Didn’t know if y’d survive, so I sent them out too,” Dean says, chest puffing at his decision.

 

It takes Eggsy’s brain a moment to process what Dean says. When it clicks, his entire body tenses, vision burning red, and hisses, “Y’ what? Why the  _ fuck  _ would y’ do that? They could get killed!”

 

“Who's in charge here?” Dean snaps, jabbing his finger at Eggsy. “Y’ shut the fuck up and go mind y’r own business. Be grateful I sent them, because maybe they’ll find better crap than this pile of garbage.” Dean tosses the can he’s holding on the table. It rolls slowly towards the edge and falls off, denting the side.

 

Eggsy bites back a scream, hands clenched, and considers going out to find them. Jamal and Ryan are fast, they know the city, and he knows they’re smart, but they’re still his mates, and he hates abandoning them.

 

But he can’t go back out there. Not today. Not so soon. Even after a couple hours of sleep, he’s drained.

 

“If they die, I swear to god, I’ll--” Eggsy starts, but snaps his mouth shut when Dean turns on him.

 

“Y’ll what?” Dean goads. Eggsy knows if he rises to the bait, it’ll only end with a beating.

 

Eggsy holds Dean’s glare, his teeth bared like a vicious dog, and then storms off to go find his sister and mum.

 

Harry watches the whole exchange quietly, gathering that Eggsy won’t be too happy with his interference. When the younger man storms off he stays where he is, leaning casually against the wall and observing the group of men in front of him. 

  
They don’t seem very capable of surviving without shelter, but he supposes they could surprise him. After all, one wouldn’t suspect what  _ he _ was capable of just by looking at him. Now wasn’t a good time to start a confrontation anyways. Soon enough he’d be out of here and the only person he would have to worry about would be himself. Surely he can last three or four days as long as he doesn’t stir anything up.

 

****

The days pass slowly. Time seems irrelevant in a world where there’s nowhere to be, but there’s always a hanging sense of urgency to be  _ somewhere _ . To be out getting supplies by sun up and back inside by sun down. Eggsy goes out every day, sometimes to escape to his sanctuary where he can collect supplies, other times to actually hunt for food and medicine.

Harry goes with him on these excursions, needing to regain what strength he’d lost in the hospital bed and not sharing Dean’s desire to stay holed up in safety. It also gives him the opportunity to explore the city. He marks what areas tend to be clear and which ones are to be avoided. He learns how close to a walker one can get before they are sensed, gets more of a sense for how acute their hearing is. 

And he helps Eggsy. He makes himself as valuable as he can to the group without becoming a necessity, carrying back some of their haul, putting what he scavenges into Eggsy’s secret store. 

Eggsy always takes half the food back to his own hideout, storing it away for a later day. No matter what he brings back to the Black Prince, Dean yells, and nine out of ten times, he slaps Eggsy, reminding him just how much of a piece o’ shite he really is.

Eggsy takes each blow with tired resignation, picking himself off the floor afterwards and dusting away the dirt. He does perimeter runs with Jamal and Ryan, taking out nearby walkers. One day he gets into a battle with bandits that are walking through. His mum freaks when he returns with so much blood covering his hands. Dean’s ready to throw him out, claiming he is bit, but when Eggsy shows that the blood isn’t his own, Dean retreats to his own corner.

Eggsy washed it off, gaze vacant, shoulders slumped, and a miasma of exhaustion hanging onto him like a phantom.

Harry’s eyes narrow at his return that day, one of the few he hadn’t accompanied him. 

He’d stayed behind, slipping off on his own to try and find a map of the nearby area somewhere. He knew geographically where Valentine’s lair is, but he didn’t know how close it is to his current location and he needed to find that out before he could leave. Eventually he managed to find a few brochures for a museum close enough that the small map inside should prove useful. Pocketing one, he returned to the pub just in time to hear Dean’s threats of throwing Eggsy out. 

His hand doesn’t leave his knife until Dean’s skulked away.

One day, while out on a run, Eggsy asks Harry with a cheeky smile, “Okay, if y’ ain’t military, then were y’ a cop?” After a beat, he asks, “Or a private detective?”

And he keeps asking, randomly, each career becoming more extravagant and insane. “Circus acrobat? Boxer? Super Spy?”

Harry doesn’t confirm or deny any of them. He always responds with nothing more than a wry smile and a quick change of subject, rolling his eyes at some of the later additions. “Really, Eggsy? Super spy? Those only exist in movies.”

“Okay, so maybe y’ aren’t James Bond, but MI5?” Eggsy jests, then adds with a teasing waggle of his eyebrows. “Nah, too old.” There’s a flash of something in Eggsy’s eyes, a slumbering hunger, and it’s obvious Harry isn’t too old--for anything.

Without even realizing it, Eggsy comes to enjoy those moments where it’s just him and Harry. He knows it’s crazy; he isn’t stupid, he knows Harry will move on. Who would willingly stay with Dean? Eggsy can feel the countdown to when Harry’s wound is healed enough for him to venture out on his own, and he savors every moment.

Harry is the only one that sees him as him, that treats him as  _ human _ , and not as some glass doll or failure.

He’ll hate to watch Harry go, but he won’t stop him. If Eggsy could be free, he’d jump at the chance.

Harry’s wound heals almost as slowly as the days go by. He isn’t getting enough to eat and what sleep he does manage to get is fitful, broken. Nightmares of the explosion plague him. In his dreams he returns to Valentine’s lair over and over again and every time he fails, the bomb blast jerking him back into wakefulness. 

Without adequate food and rest it takes him much longer to heal. Scowling down at the still angry wound, he drops his shirt back over it. He refuses to take any more pain killers, not wanting to waste all the medicine on the one wound and it’s taken to irritating him again. 

Still, he plans for the day when he’ll be able to strike out on his own. He studies the map extensively, trying to determine what will be the best way to go from what little he knows. A few of the roads are clearer than others and he tries to work them into his plan. He keeps track of what he brings into the store, not wanting to take more than he’s given. In all honesty, he’ll probably take less than what he’s brought, but he supposes he owes them a debt anyways. Perhaps Eggsy will consider it an adequate payment. 

So he bides his time until one day he wakes up without any pain and nothing more than a bright pink scar to indicate that he was ever hurt at all. It’s time for him to leave.

That day Eggsy does his normal run, but it doesn’t go as smoothly. They’re scraping the barrel of the surrounding area, and he knows they’ll have to start going out further in the city. The thought terrifies him. He decides to hit one of the old spots, see if there’s anything he can pick over.

He winds up stumbling into a nest of walkers, and barely escapes with his life.

Eggsy fights hard and viciously. He uses his crossbow to bludgeon those he can’t shoot, and twice nearly gets bit. Eggsy escapes, but without food. He considers going back to the hideout and retrieving supplies, but he’s shaken to the core and not sure he can make it. He lost two arrows in the scuffle, on top of it.

Eggsy returns that night to a beating. Jamal and Ryan try to soften the blows by offering to head back out, but Eggsy hisses, “Shut up, idiots.”

It’s too dangerous. The walkers are growing in number, more of them clogging the streets, moving towards them.

Eggsy hits the ground with a groan after Dean’s final punch and stays there. He presses his cheek against the grimy floor, which is blessedly cool against his flushed face.

“Get out of my sight,” Dean spits, shoving Eggsy with his foot. Eggsy picks himself up on trembling arms, spits a glob of blood on the floor, and slinks to the back.

“Jesus,” Ryan says when they’re out of earshot. “Why didn’t y’ just let us go? He would have gone easier on y’.”

“Because y’ could get killed,” Eggsy snaps. “And I ain’t having that on my conscience. Now shut up and hand me the med kit, will y’?”

Ryan scowls but does as he’s told. Eggsy opens it and starts tending to his injuries with an expert hand.

“Why do y’ let him do that, Eggs? Without y’, he’d be dead. We should just go,  _ leave him _ . And ‘is damn mutts,” Jamal says, but Eggsy is already shaking his head.

“My mum would go mental if we left Dean. She won’t do it, and I won’t leave her and Dais.” Eggsy hesitates, then adds, “But y’ can go. Nufin holding y’ here, and I’d understand. Christ, I’d go if I could.”

“We ain’t leaving y’ here,” Ryan insists, and Jamal nods in confirmation.

“But he’s going to kill y’ Eggsy. It ain’t going to be the walkers, it’ll be him in one of his rages,” Jamal whispers the last part, though they all know it isn’t a secret.

His mum comes back, Daisy toddling behind her, and whispers, “Oh babe. Why do y’ have to antagonize him?”

Eggsy flinches and looks down at the med kit. She takes it from him, crouching in front of him so she can take over cleaning the blood and applying some cream and bandages. Daisy crawls into his lap and he hugs her, focusing on playing with her hands in his rather than the sting of medicine.

“It’s hard on him,” Michelle tries to rationalize, “All of this mess.”

“And it ain’t for me?” Eggsy asks, incredulous. “I’m out there every day, risking my life, mum.”

She pauses, frowning at him. Her hair's a mess of blonde knots, but there’s a clarity in her eyes. She couldn’t drink anymore when the apocalypse hit. Once the booze and drugs left her system, her eyes grew brighter, growing crystalline.

“I know, baby,” Michelle murmurs, “but he isn’t like y’. He’s a weak man, and he can’t survive this.”

Eggsy meets her gaze, and he tries to piece together what she’s saying; she’s the first to look away.

When she finishes, Eggsy drops Daisy’s hands and kisses the top of her head. “I’m tired, I think I’m going to have a lie down.”

  
“Okay, babe,” Michelle says and gathers Daisy in her arms. Jamal and Ryan eye him warily, and Eggsy can tell they want to say something, but they leave. Eggsy’s grateful as he crawls under some dirty blankets and settles his head on a flat pillow. His entire body aches, and his heart hurts.


	6. Plans

Harry spends the day readying himself to leave. As soon as Eggsy goes out on a supply run he leaves as well, making his way to the secret stash. It’s simple enough for him to scale up to the balcony now that he’s healed. He checks his mental list against the supplies he sees, piling cans and bottles of water into a backpack and leaving it by the front door. Bringing it back to the pub will only raise suspicions. 

 

He spends the next few hours poring over the map again, tracing and retracing the route he’s decided on. The first few streets he knows will be clear enough, but after that he’ll be traveling blind and he’ll have to be ready. 

 

Eventually the sun starts to set, and he makes his way back to the Black Prince for his last night there. There are more walkers on his way back than usual, and he finds himself hiding more often than not, waiting until they shuffle past him before flitting to the next spot of cover. 

 

By the time he actually makes it back the sun has set and darkness is crawling in. Quietly, he heads inside, hoping that no one has noticed his absence. 

 

He walks in on a fistfight. Dean slams his fist into Eggsy’s gut and Harry just barely keeps himself from intervening, though his fingers itch for a good fight. Eggsy collapses to the floor and Harry’s gaze follows Dean as he stumbles to his usual booth. 

 

As Jamal and Ryan tend to him he drifts closer, listening in on their conversation, lip curling slightly when Michelle joins in. He doesn’t know what prompted the fight, but he doubts Eggsy had deserved it. Soon the others are walking away, leaving Eggsy alone. 

 

Harry doesn’t want to disturb him, but there won’t be another opportunity to talk to him. He makes his way over, settling in beside him. “They’re right,” he says, voice pitched low so they won’t be overheard. “You should leave.” 

 

Eggsy turns his head to look at Harry. He ignores the way his heart skips a beat every time his gaze catches him. It’s like he’s always aware of where Harry is, even when he doesn’t necessarily see him.

 

Eggsy’s fingers twitch, and he clamps down on the urge to reach out and brush his fingers across Harry’s. He’s not stupid. Harry has no interest in him. He’s just a safe haven for Harry until Harry is ready to leave. Eggsy’s a temporary fixture in his life.

 

“I can’t,” Eggsy says in the same lower register Harry’s using. “I can’t abandon mum and Daisy.”

 

He won’t. No matter how bad it gets, how awful Dean is, or how many walkers there are, Eggsy won’t leave them behind. He knows all too well what it means to be left and forgotten. He won’t do the same to them.

 

Eggsy closes his eyes, his eyelids heavy. “But it’s okay if y’ go,” Eggsy murmurs sleepily.

 

“I  _ am _ going,” Harry says bluntly. “Tomorrow morning, as early as I can. I want you to come with me.”

 

Not exactly a lie, but not exactly the truth either. He’s under no illusions about his own abilities and the type of world it is now. Striking out on his own would be something akin to suicide. Maybe he wouldn’t die immediately, but he’ll have to sleep sometime and he will be vulnerable, both to walkers and to bandits. He needs someone with him and that might as well be Eggsy. 

 

Michelle and Daisy will slow them down considerably, but if that’s what it takes to get some help, he’ll put up with them. “And I wouldn’t ask you to abandon Daisy or your mother.”

 

Eggsy opens his eyes again and stares at Harry, and for a moment he isn’t sure what he feels. There’s a flicker of distrust, an instinct he’s never shaken, but as he weighs the gravity of what Harry says, forced to face the reality of it all, he actually considers the possibility.

 

The idea of Harry leaving, of going on without him, of possibly dying, shakes Eggsy deeper to the core than he expects. The urge to reach out again is nearly overpowering and he barely clamps down on it.

 

“Y’ would let us come?” Eggsy sits up and scoots closer, and he tells himself it’s so they can hear each other better, but it’s belied by the way his pulse races. “Y’re going after sumfin. I can see it in y’r eyes. Who  _ are  _ y’, Harry?”

 

“Does it matter?” Harry asks, tilting his head slightly to one side. “Come with me.”

 

Eggsy holds Harry’s gaze and it doesn’t evade him that they’re close, fingertips brushing, knees knocking, within distance to lean forward and close the space. He doesn’t--wouldn’t even dare with Dean so close.

 

Eggsy purses his lips, searching Harry’s face. It’s foolish to throw his trust in a man he barely knows, a man who won’t tell him anything. But Harry’s had his back more than anyone in this new world. And something much more profound than pasts has been forged.

 

Would he really follow Harry?

 

What else is there? Stay here and watch their supplies dwindle? Eventually they’ll run out and have to move on, and then what? Dean will get them killed. He has no clue what it’s like out there.

 

Was waiting for the inevitable end really worth it when there was a sliver of hope?

 

_ And y’ wouldn’t have to say goodbye. _

 

Eggsy’s heart throbs. He flicks his tongue out, licking his bottom lip, which is tender from where Dean had slapped him. His gaze flicks to Harry’s mouth, then back up.

 

“Dean’ll follow,” Eggsy says. “If we do this, it needs to be done right. Otherwise him and his mutts will make our life hell.”

 

Harry notices everything. The way Eggsy shifts forward even though they can hear each other well enough, the way his eyes linger just a little too long on his lips. It strikes him in that moment that there’s a way he could convince Eggsy to come with him for sure. It’s nothing he hasn’t used before but this time he hesitates. Something in him recoils at the idea and he leans back, creating a tiny gap between them. 

 

“If he follows, he’ll die, you know that as well as I do,” he says, briefly glancing over at the man in question. “We’ll leave before they wake up; they won’t know where we’re going and they won’t find us. They won’t find you,” he promises.

 

Eggsy doesn’t miss the way Harry leans away, creates a wider space between them. He immediately retreats, the unspoken dismissal stinging sharper than any of Dean’s slaps. Eggsy schools his expression so it’s normal, sliding until his back bumps the oven. The yawning gorge between them is now a canyon, and a small part of Eggsy realizes it’s always been there, with him throwing rope into the emptiness.

 

He looks to the other room, weighing Harry’s words. “It must be nice to be so sure,” Eggsy murmurs. “But y’ never lived like we have. Dean may not know where we’re going, but he sure as hell will follow. Men like Dean, they don’t let go. Not for nufin.”

 

Dean hasn’t been out there, though, and even if he follows, he could be killed by walkers. Then again, Dean has the resilience of a cockroach. Eggsy is sure a nuclear bomb could drop on his head and he would walk away with only a bit of dust on his shoulders.

 

“We’ll need to take their weapons,” Eggsy says. “Y’ll need ‘em anyways. Y’ won’t get far with a switchblade. Dean has a cache downstairs in the basement, locked in the bar’s safe. Y’ wouldn’t happen to know how to crack one of those, would y’?”

 

Eggsy has a point about the weapons. They were the one thing that had been in short supply in his hoard and Harry had been somewhat hesitant about heading out with only a knife. He would have done it if he had to, but the prospect of getting more weapons, as well as leaving Dean without, is too tempting. 

 

He nods, leaning in just slightly so he can lower his voice even more. “If I can get down there, I can crack it,” he assures him.

 

“He keeps the door locked. I can pilfer the key and get it for y’. When I distract him, y’ take the key and slip down there for the weapons. Y’ll need to be quick though, okay?” Eggsy says. The idea doesn’t please him. Not in the slightest. But if they want an actual chance of survival, they’ll need more than his crossbow and Harry’s knife. “I’ll get it tonight, after they’ve gone to sleep.”


	7. No Turning Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy tries to get the keys from Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting early today because I won't be home in the evening.

Eventually Michelle comes in to check on Eggsy, Daisy trailing behind. Daisy settles in beside him to sleep, while Michelle slips back out. Eggsy draws Daisy close, cuddling her to his chest, and dozes in and out as he waits for the right time.

 

Jamal and Ryan filter in, throwing wary glances at Harry. They still don’t quite trust him, but since Eggsy vouched for Harry, they accept his presence.

 

Harry has long since shifted away from Eggsy, putting some distance between them to keep suspicion down. He ignores Jamal’s and Ryan’s obvious scrutiny, knowing he would react the same way were he in their position. 

 

Dean and his crew don’t come into the back. They seldom do. Instead they polish off more of their dwindling supplies of liquor and weed, Michelle shackled to his side by dependency and desperation.

 

A few hours into the night, Eggsy climbs to his feet carefully. He nudges Harry with his foot, one finger to his lip, and then slips out of the room. Dean and his mutts are slumped in their usual booth, while Michelle has tucked herself into another one a few rows down, a half-full glass of a brownish gold drink in front of her.

 

Instantly Harry wakes. He wasn’t a heavy sleeper before the end of the world and he hasn’t turned into one now. He sits up and waits for Eggsy to return, ears straining to catch any sound that might indicate that something’s gone wrong.

 

Eggsy moves over to Dean, who sits opposite Rottie and Poodle. He eyes Dean’s two goons, grimacing at Poodle’s sawblade snores and spit-slick chin. There are are more craters on his jaw than the moon, and each time he inhales, they quiver.

 

He allows himself a few seconds of consideration, studying the angle of Dean’s slouched figure, before he slides into the seat next to him. He curls his nose at the odor wafting from Dean. He hasn’t bothered to keep up with bathing, and sitting for days in soiled clothes without any deodorant has left him with the perpetual stench of soured milk and gym socks.

 

Eggsy reaches into his pocket, gingerly sliding his fingers past the fold, and feels for the key. His heart skips a beat when he doesn’t find it, and he extracts his hand. He scowls, looks Dean over again, and then slips under the table to try for the other pocket facing the wall.

 

Dean shifts, his foot centimeters from touching Eggsy. Eggsy freezes, waiting until Dean settles with a grunt and grumble, before he goes for the pocket.

 

He slides his hand in, comes in contact with something cold, and withdraws it. A foot kicks him in the back and he bites back a groan of pain. When it’s not followed by another kick, Eggsy relaxes and slides out from under the table.

 

Eggsy returns to the back holding up the key with a broad grin and a twinkle in his eyes, looking expectantly at Harry.

 

“Door’s right there,” Eggsy says and passes Harry the key.

 

Accepting it with a nod, Harry slips the key into the lock, opening the door and praying it won’t creak. It swings open silently and he heads down into the basement, pausing at the bottom of the stairs to allow his eyes to adjust to the near total darkness. 

 

He can only make out dim outlines, but it’s mostly empty, the safe shoved over in a back corner. There are a few stacks of boxes and barrels, supplies for the pub that the survivors wouldn’t have found useful. He peeks into one curiously but it holds only glass mugs, another yielding cutlery and dishes. 

 

Leaving them behind, he crouches in front of the safe, pressing his ear flat against the cold metal. He works quickly, flicking through numbers until the tumbler clicks thrice, a heavy thunk indicating that he’s got it. With a sharp grin, he hauls it open. Inside there’s a plethora of guns and a few other, smaller weapons, more than he can carry upstairs by himself. 

 

Shoving a pistol into the waistband of his trousers, he hurries back up the stairs to where Eggsy’s waiting for him. “We can’t carry all of these,” he whispers.

 

“And what’s all this?” Dean demands, gripping Eggsy by the back of the neck. In the short time Harry had slipped down into the room, Dean had woken. His face is mottled red, his eyes bulging from his skull. He rattles Eggsy, causing his teeth to clank, and barks, “Think y’ can pull a fast one on me, grandad? This cocksucker tell y’ y’ could help y’r self?”

 

Harry freezes, not daring to do or say anything with Dean’s hands around Eggsy’s neck. He forces himself to stay still, not making a move even though he itches to knock him away.

 

Poodle and Rottie stand in the door, leering at Harry and Eggsy. Dean yells, “Get up Chell! Come see wot Muggsy was up to. Should have chucked him in the bins the day y’ shat him out.”

 

Eggsy winces. Dean’s stubby nails bite into his skin, his grip bruising. Dean points at Harry and says, “Hand it over, gramps, before y’ hurt y’r self. I’ll even be nice and let y’ leave wif out beating the snot out of y’ first.”

 

Slowly, Harry tugs the gun out of his waistband. His hand curls around the grip but he crouches down, placing it on the ground and pushing it away from him with his foot. He keeps his arms raised by his head, a parody of surrender. 

 

Eggsy squirms, reaching back to paw at Dean’s hand. Michelle’s woken, gathering Daisy in her arms as she looks up at Dean. Jamal and Ryan have woken too and watch helplessly as Eggsy struggles to break Dean’s hold.

 

“Let ‘im go Dean, he don’t mean anything,” Michelle pleads. Daisy starts to cry.

 

“Shut her up, Michelle, or I swear to God,” Dean bellows. Daisy’s making enough noise to call an entire horde.

 

“Let go,” Eggsy growls, going to elbow Dean, but ending up being thrown into Rottie and Poodle’s hold. Eggsy jerks his arms, glaring defiantly at him. “Y’ piece o’ shite. Y’r going to get us all killed, at least Harry is  _ doing  _ sumfin!”

 

“Oh is he? Well we’ll see how much Harry can do when he’s fucking walker food. Right after we feed y’ to them, y’ ungrateful twat,” Dean snarls. Michelle clutches Daisy close, trying to shush her sobbing, all the while crying silently herself. Dean turns on her, hissing, “I swear to God, Michelle, she’ll join them!”

 

Eggsy slams his foot down on Rottie’s as hard as he can, while throwing his head back into Poodle’s face, striking his nose with a crunch. Poodle shouts in pain, the sound immediately gurgled, and they both release Eggsy.

 

“Stay away from her,” Eggsy yells and tackles Dean. For a few inspiring seconds he holds the top, catching Dean by surprise, but after a few hits, Dean throws Eggsy aside, using the bulk of his weight to gain the advantage. Eggsy hits the ground with a grunt, his vision spinning. He’s immediately covered by Dean, thick, meaty hands clamping down around his throat and squeezing.

 

“Should have done this a long time ago,” Dean snarls, his spit hitting Eggsy’s face. Eggsy beats at Dean’s arms, choking on strangled breaths.

 

Michelle screams over Daisy’s sobs to stop, while Jamal and Ryan go to pry Dean off, but he knocks them away as if they were mosquitos.

 

That’s when Harry’s self-composure breaks. He’s not going to stand around and watch as Dean kills Eggsy. Almost without thinking, he lashes out with his foot, landing a solid blow to Dean’s ribs.

 

Dean flies off Eggsy, grunting at the impact. Eggsy coughs hoarsely, gripping his throat as he struggles to draw in one ragged breath after another. Dean struggles to his knees, face distorted and flushed red, and makes a lunge for Harry.

 

Harry jerks backwards automatically, snaking off to one side. He comes up behind Dean, planting his foot in the small of his back and forcing him to the ground, dropping his weight on top of him. “Best not try anything,” he growls.

 

Dean was never good at listening, so he doesn’t obey Harry’s suggestion and immediately tries to rebuff the attack by bucking up. He’s all weight and brute force, pummeling through the fight the same way he did life. He throws an elbow back with a vicious roar.

 

“Rottie, get the gun!” Dean bellows.

 

Eggsy looks to the gun Harry set aside at the same time as Rottie. He lets go of his throat and kicks off the ground, making a scramble for the weapon. Rottie jumps for it, but Eggsy knocks it out of the way.

 

“Y’ wanker,” Rottie spits and punches Eggsy in the cheek. Eggsy ignores the starbursts going off in front of his eyes and lashes out at Rottie, grabbing him around the waist and knocking him to the ground. Rottie punches him again, briefly dazing Eggsy. When he goes for another punch, Eggsy bites his arm, earning a howl of anguish.

 

Harry has to arch backwards to avoid Dean’s flailing limbs and his grip loosens. Cursing, he scrambles to re-secure his grip, hands clamping around his wrists and slamming them onto the ground in front of him. He bears down on him with all his weight to try and keep him down.

 

“Y’ fucking bastard!” Rottie wails and knees Eggsy in the gut, forcing him to let go.

 

Harry twists to see what’s happening with Eggsy, eyes narrowing. “That’s enough!” he snaps, voice loud enough to echo through the room. “Eggsy. Bring me the gun.”

 

Everyone freezes. Even Daisy seems to sense the urgency of the situation and her cries abruptly stop, reverting to tiny whimpers. Eggsy moves for the gun, and Rottie reaches for him again, but he deflects his arm and grabs the weapon with a trembling hand. Eggsy turns to Harry and Dean, prepared to hand it over and let Harry handle everything, but when the gun levels with Dean’s head, he hesitates.

 

He could just shoot him and be done with it. Save them all a mess of problems.

 

Michelle sobs, and Eggsy can see her burying her face in Daisy’s hair. Jamal and Ryan look stricken, watching him with a mixture of fear and confusion.

 

Eggsy swallows thickly and straightens his arm, positioning his finger on the trigger. Dean meets his eyes, and for the smallest of seconds doubt surfaces, but then he tamps down on it and spits challengingly, “Wot? Y’ a big man now, think y’re going to shoot me? In front of y’r mum? Kill y’r baby sister’s dad? That it?”

 

“I should,” Eggsy hisses. “It’s better than y’ deserve.”

 

“Y’ don’t have the bollocks,” Dean goads. “Never have. Y’r a bigger bitch than y’r mum here.”

 

“Shut up!” Eggsy yells. “Christ, just shut up! We’re leaving, mum and Dais, Jamal and Ryan. We’re going with Harry, and if y’ follow, I swear to god I’ll kill y’.” Eggsy’s arm trembles; he can hold steady, he does it all the time with his crossbow, but the emotions are running too rapidly.

 

“No y’ won’t,” Dean says, as if he isn’t pinned down, as if there isn’t a 9mm pointed at his face. “Just like y’ ain’t leaving. Do y’ think y’r arse can survive out there?”

 

“It has,” Eggsy says, tone distant and haunted. “For a lot longer than this world has been hell.”

 

Harry watches the exchange with interest, curious to see what Eggsy will do. He’d gone out of his way to save so many, including him, but Dean had been terrible to him. Could he really pull the trigger? 

 

But it isn’t fair to put Eggsy through such a trial if he doesn’t have to. “Eggsy,” he repeats. “Give me the gun.”

 

Eggsy looks at Harry, and there’s something desperate in his eyes. He nods minutely and turns the gun so the butt of it faces Harry. He hands him the gun, fingers limp as he passes it over.

 

Emotions bubble inside him and he has to clamp down on a sob. He manages to keep himself together and back away slowly to give Harry room.

 

Harry levels the gun at Dean, the barrel of it pressing against the back of his skull. They can’t leave him alive; Eggsy’s right, he’ll only follow them if they do. Still, it isn’t an easy thing to gun down an innocent man. Then he thinks about the bruises patterning Eggsy’s skin, the rough way he speaks to his wife and daughter, his hands so recently around Eggsy’s throat. 

 

He squeezes the trigger. Dean’s body goes limp underneath him and he gets to his feet slowly, gun held loosely in his hand. “We need to go,” he says, glancing around the small group. “The walkers will have heard that.”

 

Michelle starts sobbing in time with Daisy, while Jamal hisses, “Jesus fucking Christ. He shot, he fucking shot him.”

 

Eggsy looks at Harry, his eyes wide. It happened so fast. Dean didn’t even have time to respond.

 

He thought there’d be guilt, or remorse, or maybe even relief, but there’s only a numbness. Eggsy opens and closes his mouth, before nodding. “Right, okay. We can go to the flat, wait till morning to move.”

 

“Wot the fuck? Y’ shot him!” Rottie yells. He converges with Poodle, going for Harry, only stopping a split second beforehand when they remember he has the gun. They look warily between Harry and Dean.

 

Eggsy tenses, ready to launch into another fight if necessary.

 

Harry sends a hard glare their way, fingers tightening around the grip of the gun. “I did. Now you can shut up and come with us, or you can stay here and fend for yourselves. Or,” he adds, voice dropping ominously, “you can take another step forward and join _him_.” He jerks his head towards Dean’s body.

 

Rottie and Poodle are a lot of things, including stupid, but they have a nearly preternatural knack for self-preservation. Their symbiotic relationship with Dean was over, and like all betas in the wolf pack, they turned to the newest alpha.

 

Eggsy crouches beside his mum, reaching out for her. She flinches away, clutching Daisy closer. “Wot have y’ done?” Michelle sobs.

 

“I’m sorry mum, really I am, but we have to go. Walkers are coming.” To Jamal and Ryan, he orders, “Grab what supplies y’ can and y’r weapons.”

 

“I ain’t leaving him here,” Michelle cries, her own wails now louder than Daisy’s.

 

“Mum, please. We gotta go. Do y’ want them to get Daisy?” Eggsy pleads.

 

It’s the only thing that gets her moving. She jerks back, as if Eggsy had slapped her, and Eggsy’s chest clenches painfully. He can see the distrust and fear in her eyes, and it’s all directed towards him.

 

Eggsy pries Daisy from Michelle’s grip and whispers, “Sush now flowah, y’ need to be quiet for y’r big bruv. Can y’ do that? Can y’ play the quiet game?”

 

Daisy, bless her heart, has stopped crying, though her bottom lip trembles and her face is smeared with snot. Eggsy wipes it away with his sleeve and whispers, “Everything will be okay. I got y’.”

 

He grabs her backpack, shoves Paddington in it, and helps her put it on.

 

Harry ignores the body, not allowing himself to think about what he’s done for the moment. Right now, they have to move. He makes his way back down to the basement, scrounging for ammo. He unpacks a box of glass mugs, loading it up with the weapons, and hauling it back upstairs. 

 

Reluctantly deciding to trust Jamal and Ryan, he passes the box to them, allowing them to take what they will. He hears Daisy’s wails quiet down, Eggsy’s soft voice overlaying her muffled cries. 

 

They exchange a nod before spilling out onto the street, Harry swapping the gun for a knife. They’ve made enough noise for one night. 

 

Eggsy grabs his crossbow on the way out, and almost immediately as soon as they set out onto the street, he takes a walker out. Michelle keeps Daisy close.

  
Eggsy doesn’t think about how they’re leaving Dean behind. How the walkers will find him and they’ll devour him. How there’ll be nothing left of him in this world.


	8. In Your Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy seeks comfort in Harry, but is it real?

When they reach the flat, Eggsy is beyond exhausted. He drags himself up, nonetheless, then unlocks the front door.

  


When Rottie enters the flat with Poodle, he looks around at the cache of supplies and sneers, “Y’ve had this all along?”

  


“I have,” Eggsy snaps, turning to glare at him.

  


Rottie matches his glare, but a glance back at Harry keeps him from commenting further.

  


“We’re home,” Michelle murmurs as she walks in, drifting through the flat in tragic awe. She picks upa dusty framed photo and wipes it clean. It’s of her and Eggsy when he was seven, smiling into the camera at the park. A sob catches in her throat.

  


Harry catches the low words, shooting a look tinged with surprise at Eggsy. This had been their home? He looks around the small flat again with new eyes. 

  


Eggsy can’t meet her gaze. She swipes at her puffy eyes and sets the picture down, whispering hurriedly, “I’m putting Daisy to bed.”

  


She gathers Daisy, who has already begun to doze on her feet, and carries her off to her old room. Eggsy watches her go, expression twisted.

  


“Y’ can sleep in my old room,” Eggsy says to Jamal and Ryan, nodding down the hall. Rottie and Poodle follow, and Eggsy thinks of arguing, but he’s too exhausted to tell them to fuck off. Besides, they have to sleep. He gets a med kit and brings it back to them, instructing Ryan to take care of Poodle’s nose.

  


Eggsy returns to the living room, coming to a stop in the center of the living room. He meets Harry’s gaze, and and a myriad of emotions passes over his face, before settling into sad acceptance. A pressure blooms in his chest, as if there’s too much air in his lungs and it’s compressing around him. He wants to say something, but he doesn’t know what. Doesn’t know what to make of any of this.

  


So he just goes over to the kitchen, unearths an old bottle of whiskey covered in grime, and asks, “Care for a drink?”

  


Harry hasn’t realized how much he’s missed the taste of alcohol until this moment. “Yes, please,” he sighs. 

  


Eggsy walks to the sofa and flops down. He uncorks the bottle with his teeth, the amber liquid sloshing, and spits it out on the ground. He takes a long swig, the whiskey hitting his stomach like a fire bomb.

  


One eyebrow edging upwards, Harry settles himself on the sofa beside Eggsy, tugging the gun out of his waistband and setting it carefully off to one side. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back out of his face, eyes sliding closed. His hand settles on his forehead and he heaves a long sigh. “Are you alright?” he asks after a brief stretch of silence, peeling open one eye to look at him.

  


It’s a loaded question, even if Harry doesn’t intend for it to be. Eggsy passes him the bottle. “No? Maybe. I…” He rubs a hand down his face. “I thought I’d be happier, y’ know? To finally have him gone.”

  


But seeing the anguish on his mum’s face, hearing Daisy’s cries… Christ, she should have never seen that. Eggsy feels sick, the whiskey sloshing in his gut.

  


Harry accepts the bottle, taking a deep pull. The alcohol burns on its way down but he welcomes it. 

  


Eggsy slumps lower on the sofa and holds a hand out for the bottle. “He used to put me on the corner to bring in money,” Eggsy confesses, gaze fixed on the photo Michelle had been looking at. “He wasn’t good for a lick of work unless it was peddling drugs. I gave up gymnastics. The Marines. Everything. And all I got was a fist to the face and a dick down my throat.”

  


Passing it back over, Harry runs a hand over his face. He stares straight ahead instead of looking at Eggsy, wants to tell him to stop talking but can’t bring himself to. Despite the fact that they’ll be staying together for a while longer, he still doesn’t think it’s a good idea to get to know each other too well. There are certainly things he wants to keep to himself. 

  


Eggsy takes another long pull of whiskey, ignoring the way the spirit crashes and tosses inside him.

  


“He made my life hell,” Eggsy whispers. “So why ain’t I happy that he’s dead?”

  


“You’re not supposed to be happy,” Harry mutters, letting his hand fall back into his lap. “Relieved, maybe, but normal people don’t feel happy when other people die.” Another beat of silence passes before he speaks again. “I’m sorry, Eggsy, I shouldn’t have done that. At least not in front of your mother and Daisy.” 

  


Eggsy holds the bottle loosely. “Y’ shouldn’t have,” Eggsy agrees. “But y’ did, and he’s dead, and I can’t change it.” He furrows his brow, takes another small sip. A flush spreads across his face. There’s a lightness to the air, as if the world has slipped inside a champagne bubble.

  


“I was going to do the Olympics. I’m fucking aces on the bars.” Eggsy passes Harry the bottle back. He smiles to himself, dimples deepening in his cheeks. “It’s really… amazing. Like y’re flying.”

  


Harry glances over at him skeptically, wondering at the abrupt change in topic. He presses the bottle to his lips instead of commenting, taking a small swig. One of them needs to stay alert, after all. 

  


Eggsy shakes his head and then leans back so he’s propped on the back of the sofa, staring at the spackled ceiling. “Tell me sumfin. Anything. Like… if y’ could be anywhere in the world, anywhere at all, where would y’ be?”

  


That, at least, was safe. Swallowing down his reluctance to speak, Harry clears his throat. “I’d be in my home. It wasn’t much, but it was a nice place, somewhere to come back to after... “ He trails off, shrugging. “It was the only place where I could ever really relax.”

  


Eggsy frowns. What must it be like to be able to come home and relax? Eggsy never knew that feeling. At least, not since he was seven.

  


“And you?” Harry asks, not wanting to expand on that statement. “Where would you be?” 

  


Eggsy hums, considers his own choice, and then says, “Always wanted to go to Hawaii.”

  


Flushing, he realizes how silly that sounds and rapidly shakes his head. “Stupid. Doesn’t matter much now, does it?”

  


Harry’s lips thin. So many possibilities gone in the blink of an eye, and that’s just one of them. Wordlessly, he passes the bottle back over. 

  


Eggsy sits up, using his elbows to leverage himself from the sinking cushions, and twists to look at Harry. He squints his eyes. The little bit of alcohol he had hit hard due to a combination of stress and no food.

  


“I’m glad y’ did it,” Eggsy confesses. “Even if I don’t know wot the fuck to make about everything, I’m glad y’ did it.” Another pause. He licks his lips, head tipped to the side. From the bedrooms he can hear snoring. “And I’m glad I found y’ when I did.”

  


Smiling wryly at Eggsy, Harry lets out a dry laugh. “I’m rather glad you came along when you did as well. I would be dead if it weren’t for you.”

  


“Maybe.” Maybe not. Eggsy has seen how Harry can move, and something tells him that even when cornered by ravenous zombies, Harry would have found some way to survive.

  


“The point is you saved me and you didn’t have to and I’m grateful for that,” Harry says, suddenly needing Eggsy to know how serious he is about this. He turns to face him square on, looking him in the eyes. 

  


Eggsy studies Harry’s face. There are traces of lines extending from his eyes, and while his jaw isn’t entirely chiseled, it holds a firmness to it that doesn’t often remain with age. His greasy hair has begun to curl in ringlets along his forehead, and Eggsy smirks. He wants to touch one of the curlicues.

  


He sets the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table. His heart is lodged in his throat, and he’s suddenly aware of their proximity, of the underlying scent of  _ Harry  _ beneath the mildew and sweat.

  


Maybe it’s hero worship. Harry is like his savior. But Eggsy knows the rabbit beat of his heart isn’t from misguided idolism or gratitude. No, it’s been racing for a long time.

  


He shifts closer on the sofa, scooting forward until their knees bump. There is so much to discuss, like where Harry is going, what they do from here, and how they are going to survive, but Eggsy doesn’t want to think about any of that. He doesn’t want to think about anything but the shade of brown that is Harry’s eyes, like perfectly steeped tea swirled with cream and honey.

  


For the first time Harry doesn’t lean away, doesn’t move to put a space between them. He’s going to blame the alcohol in the morning, but for now he’s giving into what he wants. And what he wants, despite all logic and sense of decency, is the young man in front of him. 

  


Eggsy rubs his palms on his thighs. Can Harry hear his heart? It sounds like a bass drum. It’s silly, he’s getting all tongue tied and gut-twisted over Harry, as if he were some school boy with a crush. Harry’s only concern with Eggsy is a place to sleep. They were companions, at most.

  


Yet. Yet, Eggsy feels like there is a string tethering him to Harry.

  


Did Harry feel it too?

  


Maybe it’s delusional, especially when Eggsy is a good for nothing piece of shit, a used up slag in the old world, and nothing but walker bait in the new, but he wants to hope. God, does he want to hope.

  


It’s praying for sunlight during a tornado.

  


“I’m not sorry for killing Dean,” Harry says suddenly and realizes he means it. “Maybe I should be, but he was hurting you and your family.” His eyes wander down to the finger-shaped bruises just starting to come in on Eggsy’s neck. “It was him or you, and I chose you.” 

  


No one has ever chosen Eggsy.

  


Eggsy closes the distance, not thinking about anything but  _ Harry _ . He cups Harry’s face with calloused hands and kisses him. He tastes like whiskey and home and everything Eggsy always wanted.

  


It’s a bit sloppy, with a glimpse of tongue and parting lips, but it’s earnest and needy and spilling with so many emotions.

  


As soon as he kisses Harry though and really seems to sink into the embrace, he pulls back, face flushed and eyes wide. He stares at Harry, fingers still spread across his cheeks, and waits to see what happens, for Harry to reject him.

  


Harry barely has time to blink in shock before Eggsy is pulling away from him, the taste of their brief kiss lingering on his lips. He should take this opportunity to tell him how bad of an idea this is, but he just sits there, gaze flicking from Eggsy’s eyes to his lips. “You…” he starts, trying to piece together a sentence in his head. “You don’t know anything about me.” 

  


“I know y’re good,” Eggsy whispers. “I know y’re kind, even if y’ like to pretend like y’ ain’t.”

  


Harry shifts slightly, a protest springing to his lips. He’s none of those things, but he swallows down the words, unwilling to push him away. 

  


Eggsy moves closer, until there’s barely enough space between them for air to pass through. “I know I want this,” Eggsy murmurs, gaze growing heavy-lidded. “But…” Doubt flickers across his face, his entire body tensing. He holds Harry’s gaze resolutely though. “But if y’ don’t, then… then I can go to bed, and we pretend this didn’t happen, yeah?”

  


Desire wars with Harry’s sense for the second time that night. Desire wins. He leans in, closing the scant space between them with a soft sigh. 

  


Eggsy’s fingers find their way into Harry’s hair. He melts into Harry’s touch, kissing him as if it were the only thing keeping him alive. His lips are chapped. Lord knows when they last had a proper bath. And Harry’s hair is greasy beneath his fingertips, but Eggsy can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

  


He presses his chest against Harry’s, letting his hands slide away so he can wrap his arms around Harry’s neck, deepening the kiss. It’s been so long since he’s felt the touch of anyone, let alone someone that actually cared. A small, needy sound escapes him.

  


Harry’s hands settle on his hips, keeping him close. Eggsy is so soft underneath him, so willing and eager to please. He’s kissed any number of people but none of them quite like this. Maybe it’s just the harshness of the world around them that makes him seem so delicate, or maybe that’s just the way Eggsy is. Either way, Harry welcomes it. 

  


His arm moves to wrap around his back, pulling him flush against him. He barely resists the urge to just haul him into his lap then and there.

  


Eggsy can’t get enough of him. Every time he breaks for air, he’s back for more, clutching onto Harry as if he’s afraid Harry will throw him aside at any moment. At some point he ends up in Harry’s lap, rocking his hips in small swirls. It isn’t until the first spike of pleasure from their bumping groins shoots through him that he stops. He presses his forehead to Harry’s, panting harshly.

  


Eggsy looks into Harry’s eyes and whispers, “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time.”

  


“I know,” Harry rasps. He inhales deeply, letting the breath out long and slow. “I have too.”

  


He shouldn’t have, but he did, and there’s no taking it back now, not with the heat of Eggsy’s breath on his face and the weight of him on his legs. Forcing himself to let go, he draws his arms back to his side. 

  


He’s suddenly become all too aware that there are other people in the small flat, Eggsy’s mother among them. He can’t bring himself to push Eggsy off of him just yet but he clears his throat, glancing down the darkened hallway meaningfully.

  


Warmth blooms in Eggsy’s stomach when Harry makes the confession, but it’s quickly deflated when he looks back and realizes there are others in the flat. He flushes, groaning weakly. There’s a definite hardness between his legs, but it’ll have to wait. He knows even if there weren’t people just down the hall that they wouldn’t be able to do much more than petting, but Eggsy would be happy just to have someone else’s hand on him.

  


He steals one final kiss, and it’s deep and filthy, and somehow expressive all at once, as if Eggsy is trying to sear his memory into Harry, to make sure Harry doesn’t change his mind as soon as Eggsy lifts off him. He withdraws, sucking on Harry’s bottom lip, the tiniest nip of teeth, before he lets go and slides off him with a huff.

  


Reluctantly Harry lets him go, doesn’t reach for him like he wants to, drag him back for another kiss just like that one. He watches him, noting that if someone walks in right then it will be quite clear what they were doing. Eggsy’s lips are red and kiss-swollen, his shirt rumpled from Harry’s grip, hair mussed and eyes nearly pure black. He figures he looks much the same way and sets about combing his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it.

  


Eggsy grabs the whiskey and takes a few gulps. He sets it back down and settles on the sofa, putting some distance between himself and Harry. He doesn’t trust himself not to jump Harry again and just hump him into tomorrow.

  


“I should… I should go to bed,” Eggsy says, but makes no move to leave Harry’s side. He certainly doesn’t want to go to his room, where Rottie and Poodle are--even if Jamal and Ryan are with them--and he doesn’t want to sleep in his mum’s room, leaving Harry alone.

  


“I’ll stay on watch,” Harry says. He doesn’t think he has a chance of getting any sleep until he’s calmed down some anyways and besides, they can’t leave the place defenseless, no matter how safe it might seem.

  


“Only for a short while,” Eggsy says, broaching no room for argument. “I’ll take over in a couple hours.”

  


He doesn’t get up and leave, but instead curls in his corner of the sofa. It takes him a little while to calm his system enough to relax, but eventually the exhaustion and stress of the day overwhelms him and he’s out.

  


The bruises around his neck have grown more prominent, darkening to angry purple and blue splotches, and there’s the faded yellow and brown along his face from the last time Dean had punched him. In his sleep, his features smooth, until all the distrust and apprehension fades, and the hard, clenched line of his jaw loosens. Curled in a ball, legs tugged to his chest, Eggsy looks small and young.

  


It only takes one look at Eggsy for guilt to come creeping back. A muscle in Harry’s jaw twitches and he stares resolutely out the window, trying and failing to keep from thinking about what they were just doing. Unfortunately for him, things stay quiet outside, the streets clear of walkers. It gives him far too much time to think. 

  


Eggsy is young and vulnerable and, much as he hates to admit it, a liability. Harry can’t afford to make friends, or anything else for that matter. Yet he clearly hasn’t succeeded in pushing him away. 

  


Sighing, he watches the moon trace a path across the sky, mulling over what he can do. By the time it’s reached its highest point he still has no idea. He places a hand on Eggsy’s shoulder, shaking him awake.

  


Eggsy wakes with a grunt, managing not to lash out at Harry. He blinks bleary eyed at Harry for a moment, then smiles sleepily and whispers, “My turn?”

  


He sits up, stretching one arm high above his head as he yawns wide enough to pop his jaw. He winces and rubs it.

  


“Here, switch spots so y’ can lie down,” Eggsy says. He wants desperately to lean forward and steal a kiss, but manages to resist.

  


Harry moves to the spot Eggsy’s vacated, leaning his head back against the sofa cushion. It takes him a bit before he actually falls asleep but eventually he dozes off. 

  


Eggsy gives Harry his spot, settling into the other corner. He tells himself not to focus on Harry when the other man lies down, to not watch him sleep-- _ don’t be creepy, don’t be creepy _ \--but Eggsy finds his gaze gravitating back to Harry like a wave pulled by the moon.

  


Beneath the layers of doubt and pain and suffering, there’s a glimmer of hope and happiness every time he sees Harry. And he clings to that, holds tightly, the same way he clings to Daisy, refusing to let go of that sliver of brightness.

  


When morning finally comes, Eggsy is stiff. He stands, stretches, and then goes around waking everyone. His mum doesn’t say much to him, her gaze distant, and her eyes puffy and red. Daisy is quiet, clinging to her Paddington as Eggsy corrals her out of the bedroom and into the sitting room.

  


Harry wakes when Eggsy does, stirring at the sudden movement of the sofa. He squints at the early morning sunlight streaming through the windows, standing and stretching his back. Sleeping sitting up hadn’t been the best idea. He watches the others trickle slowly into the room, blinking sleep from their own eyes. 

  


Rottie and Poodle don’t seem to know what to do. Poodle’s face is heavily bruised from where Eggsy had head butted him.

  


When everyone is awake, Eggsy fixes a hearty breakfast of canned fruit, some beans, and box of fiber cereal. He manages to find some juice barrels and gives Daisy one.

  


Eggsy hands off the cans, then takes a seat between Harry and Ryan and asks, “So what now?” He looks at Harry. “What’s the plan?”

  


“Why’s he get to decide?” Rottie demands. “Who the fuck put him in charge?”

  


“Shut it Rottie,” Eggsy snaps. “Y’ don’t like it, y’ can risk it on y’r own.”

  


He meets Rottie’s gaze challengingly, and he almost expects Rottie to actually try and fight him, but Rottie slumps after a few minutes, glowering at Harry and him, and eats some of his food.

  


Eggsy turns back to Harry. “Harry?”

  


For a brief moment, Harry doesn’t respond. While he might not mind telling Eggsy his plans, he’s not sure he wants everyone in the group to know. Eying Rottie and Poodle warily, and already half-regretting his decision to let them come along, he swallows down a piece of fruit to give himself an extra second to think. “I have… a place in mind,” he says slowly. “I’ve already planned out a route that steers me-- us around the worst of the walkers, but I could only plan so far ahead. After today we’ll have to be ready for anything.”

  


“No offense, bruv, but why should we trust y’? I’m wif Rottie on this one, why is he in charge, Eggs? We don’t even really know this bloke,” Jamal says, not meeting Harry’s eyes.

  


“Oi, wot are y’ going on about? Harry has done nufin but help us. He didn’t have to--he could’a gone on his own a long time ago, but he  _ stayed _ ,” Eggsy snaps, bristling at the scrutiny the group was putting Harry under. He’s a dog protecting his master. “I trust him--”

  


“But why?” Michelle says. She’s barely touched her food. “Y’ don’t know him Eggsy--he’s… he’s a monster! He killed Dean!” Her voice breaks.

  


“No he isn’t,” Eggsy hisses. “The only monster was Dean. Harry did wot needed to be done.”

  


“Wot needed to be done?” Michelle repeats incredulously. “Do y’ hear y’r self?”

  


“Dean  _ beat  _ me,” Eggsy says, “H-He…”

  


“He didn’t mean it, baby, he just--we did wot we could, to get by, and the stress,” Michelle stammered.

  


Eggsy balks, his fist tightening around the can of food he has long since forgotten. “Get by? Wot we could?” Eggsy shook his head, eyes wide. “He  _ raped  _ me. He made me work the corners. He put me in the hospital--multiple times. Before all of this, and after… and--”

  


Eggsy snaps his mouth closed, face flushed. He sets the food down, hard, sending sticky syrup over the edge. Michelle flinches, and Eggsy hates that he put the tears in her eyes, but he relishes in the shame that flickers across her face. Daisy, bless her heart, eats.

  


“We follow Harry,” Eggsy repeats, glad there isn’t a tremor in his voice. He holds everyone’s gaze, and Michelle looks away, along with Jamal, who stares guiltily at his feet. “That’s final.”

  


Harry’s gaze darts between each of them, watching them as they speak, but he doesn’t say anything in his defense. He doesn’t have much to say and he never intended on taking over their little group. In a way, he’s relieved they don’t trust him; it lets him know they’re capable of being cautious.

  


Eggsy stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and murmurs, “Harry, can y’ help me get sumfin in the back? Everyone finish eating.”

  


He walks off, not waiting for an answer, and goes to his room.

  


With one last look around the other people in the room, none of whom are meeting his eyes, Harry trails behind Eggsy, stepping into the room behind him. “They’re right not to trust me, you know,” he says quietly. 

  


“Y’ going to tell me we shouldn’t follow y’ too?” Eggsy laughs bitterly. He turns to Harry, eyes flashing. “Out of everyone, y’re the only person I  _ can  _ trust.”

  


Eggsy glares at Harry, fists clenched at his side. He deliberates for a few seconds, then pushes Harry against the wall, hands curled in his shirt, and kisses him hard.

  


Harry opens his mouth to say something, but Eggsy is on him a second later. Startled, he steps backwards when Eggsy pushes at him, back thudding against the wall. It takes a second but he finally places his hands on his shoulders, forcing him back. “Eggsy, what the hell was that?” he hisses, keeping his voice low and darting a look down the hallway.

  


Something flashes across Eggsy’s face, and he isn’t even sure what the emotion is. All he knows is that it hurts, a black mass swelling inside him, pressing against bone and flesh, splintering him apart as if he were nothing but glass.

  


He swallows it all down, ducks his head, and says, “Sorry--I…” He shrugs, then turns his back on Harry and walks to his closet. “Forget it--just, forget everything, yeah?” He forces a smile and looks over his shoulder. “We follow y’ until we can get somewhere safe, and then y’ can go on y’r way.”

  


It’s clear from the way Eggsy shuts down that he’s hurt him but Harry presses his lips together, clamping down on an apology. Better not to have a heart-to-heart right now. In the end all he does is nod. 

  


There really wasn’t anything Eggsy needed, but he can’t tell Harry that. Then he’ll look like a bigger idiot.

  


And isn’t it pathetic that he’s concerned with keeping face in front of Harry, when the world is literally rotting away?

  


He digs through the closet, sleuthing through some clothes on the floor, and tosses them back to Harry. “Take these. At least Jamal and Ryan can change into something somewhat clean.”

  


Harry catches them reflexively, tucking them under one arm.

  


It’s a dismissal, the best one he can muster at the moment. He can still feel Harry against his mouth, hard and resistant, not like the pliant warmth of last night. But a bit of liquor can soften anyone up.

  


He grabs a couple more things from the closet, anything he thinks might be useful, and then carries it back into the living room.

  


Harry follows mutely behind him, passing the clothes over to Jamal and Ryan. “We should leave soon,” he says. “The more daylight we have, the better. I don’t know where it’ll be safe to stop for the night, but I don’t think we can make it by nightfall.” 

  


Eggsy moves over to his crossbow and picks it up, checking over the arrows to make sure they’re good, and then slipping on his sheath for his knife.

  


“Keep tight. Jamal and Ryan, y’ take the rear. Mum, keep Daisy close and in the center. Rottie and Poodle, just…” He eyes them. “Just don’t die, yeah?”

  


Rottie glares at Eggsy. “Ain’t y’ going to give me a weapon?”

  


“Are y’ going to shoot me in the back?” Eggsy asks.

  


Even if Rottie denies it, Eggsy knows the minute Rottie got the chance, he’d go for Eggsy.

  


“Come on. Harry and I will lead,” Eggsy says. Everyone leaves the flat, Eggsy remaining behind to see them out. He looks back, taking a final look at his family home, and then closes the door. “Let’s move.”

  
He’ll throw his focus into this. It’s easier moving into the motions, turning himself into a machine. At least he understands that. He may not get the rest of the world, but he understands what it meant to fight and survive.


	9. Clear Out

Eggsy joins Harry’s side, crossbow in his hands as he moves, ready to take out any walkers in the distance.

 

Harry brings up his mental map, taking a moment to trace the route. Then he starts off silently, drawing his knife out of his pocket and holding it at the ready. He glances back to make sure everyone is following behind him before starting off, keeping a wary eye on the streets surrounding them.

 

Eggsy lets Harry lead. He has no clue where they’re going, and he realizes it’s insane to follow Harry so blindly, but what choice do they have? They have nowhere else to go.

 

They make good time; most of the ground they cover that day is on streets Harry has already determined are relatively safe. There are a few walkers here and there, but they make enough noise that they are easy to avoid when they can and kill if they have to. 

 

The sun is just beginning to dip below the horizon when the small group reaches unfamiliar territory. Harry hasn’t been able to scout out anything beyond this point, has no idea what they’ll walk into. Loathe to stop when there’s still a good half hour of daylight left, but equally reluctant to push them into danger, Harry brings them to a halt. 

 

“We should stop here for the night,” he says, eyes flicking involuntarily to Eggsy, seeking out his reaction. 

 

Eggsy scans the area, taking in the buildings and surroundings, before he nods sharply. He hadn’t said much all day--not that they could really talk, any noise could bring a deluge of undead upon them--his primary focus being on keeping them alive.

 

“One of these buildings should do for shelter,” Eggsy says, weighing the area. The tallest buildings are out. But there is one building at the corner, a stout church overshadowed by high rises. Eggsy points to it with his crossbow. “There. Harry and I can scope it out, Jamal and Ryan y’ keep an eye out here.”

 

Harry turns to look at the building he’s indicated, eyes narrowing. There are bound to be a few walkers in it; people would have sought refuge in religion during the last few days of civilization. But it would also be relatively easy to clear, and it certainly wouldn’t be a target for bandits. 

 

Eggsy glances at Rottie and Poodle, who’d sullenly followed them. Eggsy hasn’t missed their shared conspiratorial looks. He doesn’t know if it is better to leave them out here, where they may try to overpower Jamal and Ryan, or take them with him and Harry, where there may be walkers.

 

“Y’ two can come with us,” Eggsy says after a brief internal  deliberation .

 

Poodle grunts in response. His face is patchy red and slick with sweat. Rottie hisses out a curse, then asks, “And wot exactly are we supposed to use to defend ourselves?”

 

Eggsy looks to Harry, an eyebrow quirked in silent question. Did they give them weapons?

 

Harry takes a moment to  consider . He doesn’t trust them, not in the least, but they’ll just be dead weight if they take them in there without weapons. With little choice, he digs a pair of guns out of his pack. He offers them to Rottie and Poodle, glaring at the two of them meaningfully. “Before either of you try anything, I’d like to remind you what I did to Dean.”

 

The threat carries some weight, but neither men have enough common sense to put too much stock in the warning. Rottie snatches the gun, while Poodle accepts it with reservation.

 

“We’ll be back,” Eggsy promises, and his mum looks ready to argue, but he shakes his head and starts for the church before she can get anything out. She makes a strangled sound that cracks against Eggsy’s resolve.

 

Eggsy takes the lead. The church is boarded up, like half the buildings on the street, shabbily fortified with plywood and scavenged pieces of scrap metal. Eggsy peeks through the cracks in one of the windows, trying to gauge if there’s any movement, before he mounts the steps. He tests the handle to make sure it isn’t barred and is met with resistance.

 

“Blocked,” Eggsy informs Harry, and then vaults over the side of the steps. He hits the ground with a grunt, dust kicking up around his feet, and goes around the side.

 

Harry jerks his head at Rottie and Poodle, indicating that they should go next. He’d rather not have both his and Eggsy’s backs be unguarded. Once they’re over he leaps gracefully to the other side, ears and eyes straining for any signs of danger. 

 

Eggsy’s skin prickles as he moves through the alley towards the back of the church. Rottie and Poodle aren’t far behind, Poodle’s breath strained from his broken nose. Eggsy tests the rear entrance, which is luckily unblocked.

 

The only light comes from what bit the door allows in, leaving a wall of black ahead of him. Eggsy clumsily finds his way through, bumping against a blockade that is sloppily set up. He climbs over, straining to hear if there are any walkers shambling about.

 

Running a palm over the block of wood barricading their way, Harry estimates how high up it is before securing a handhold and hauling himself over to join Eggsy. “We need light,” he whispers under his breath, trying to stay as quiet as possible. 

 

“Y’ got a torch hidden up yer arse?” Eggsy asks and shoots a look back at him. Rottie and Poodle drop down and join them. Eggsy opens up his pack and digs around for a bit, finding a torch tucked beneath some supplies. He passes it to Harry. “Y’ hold it.”

 

Harry curls his hand around it, flicking it on. His eyes narrow in the sudden beam of light and he waits until they adjust somewhat before sweeping it around the room. He can’t see anything but broken chairs and scattered Bibles, but he still doesn’t allow himself to relax. Who knows what could be hiding in here?  

 

Eggsy slings his pack back on, adjusts his grip on his crossbow, and inches his way out of the room and into the hall. There’s something in the air, a mildewy musk muddled with something dead and rotted. Bile batters against his stomach. He wants to cover his nose, but he keeps his hands on his crossbow.

 

The hall is lined with closed doors. One by one, Eggsy starts opening them. He finds an office, which is empty, and a kitchen with molded food that has been bloated by maggots on the table.

 

The next two rooms are storages and what looks like classrooms, posters with Bible verses on the wall. Eggsy opens the last door and freezes on the threshold.

 

Instantly, Harry is at his back, knife at the ready. He peers over his  shoulder , lifting the torch to illuminate the room. 

 

It’s a daycare, with a Noah’s Ark border around the room and dusty toys scattered over the floor. Eggsy scans the room, breath hitched in his throat, searching for any signs of small, infantile walkers.

 

Eggsy slumps when he doesn’t see any. “Clear,” Eggsy whispers hoarsely. No sooner has he murmured the word, than a sound comes from the sanctuary. Eggsy looks to Harry, jaw clenched.

 

Harry hears it as well, swinging around to face the closed doors leading into it. If there is anyone here, that’s most likely where they’ll be. He lowers the torch until it’s aimed at the floor, moving forwards slowly. Soon he’s plastered against the wall right next to the doors, peering in through the long, thin windows. 

 

The interior is swathed in darkness and he curses internally, longing for Merlin’s voice in his ear telling him exactly how many enemies he’s facing. But that isn’t an option anymore. He looks to Eggsy, jerking his head towards the opposite door to indicate he should stand there.

 

Eggsy moves into position without further instruction, while Rottie and Poodle seem to drift in the nothingness, unsure if they should barrel forward or move out of the way. Eggsy can’t see through the glass, and the unknowing makes it worse, leaves his heart pounding.

 

“Open the door on three? Rottie and Poodle can take out anyone that gets past us.” Eggsy moves his crossbow onto his back and withdraws his bowie knife. This close in range, it’ll be easier to use.

 

Harry nods, approving of the plan. He shoots a quick glance at Rottie and Poodle to make sure they’ve heard. “Only fire a shot if you absolutely have to,” he instructs quietly. “We don’t need to bring a whole pack down on our heads.” 

 

Sucking a deep breath in and letting it back out slowly, he curls his fingers around the door handle. Then, without giving himself a chance to question his actions, he yanks it open, shining the torch inside. 

 

Eggsy follows Harry’s example and pulls the door open with a lurch. The stench slams into Eggsy, stinging his eyes. There’s half-a-dozen in there, in various states of decay. They turn instantly at the scrape of the sanctuary doors. Harry’s torchlight glints off their glossy pupils, and Eggsy swears they’re trapped in a circle of hell, because there’s no way anything this horrible could be real.

 

There isn’t much time to prepare. The small cluster comes at them, snarling and snapping.

 

This is what Harry was expecting, but it doesn’t make it any easier to face down the oncoming wave of zombies. His grip tightens around the knife and he waits impatiently for them to make their way over to the doors, reluctant to launch himself into the darkened sanctuary. 

 

“Jesus!” Rottie shouts behind them. He fires a clumsy shot and hits one of the walkers in the shoulder.

 

“Fucking hell, Rot!  _ Don’t  _ fire unless y’ have to, y’ berk!” Eggsy shouts, slamming his knife into the forehead of the nearest walker.

 

“Like fucking hell I’m going to just stand here, y’ wanker!” Rottie yells back and fires again, joined by Poodle.

 

Eggsy realizes belatedly there are more than he originally counted. Some were on the ground, others behind columns, and the gunfire has them bleeding out of the shadows in a wave of undead.

 

This is bad. They’d been prepared to take on six or seven, but far more than that shamble towards them now, drawn out by the gunfire. Harry swallows down the tongue-lashing he wants to give the two idiots, saving it for later. It would hardly be helpful now.

 

Instead he slashes at the nearest walker, slicing across its scalp before plunging his blade through its eye. 

 

“Harry, y’r right!” Eggsy shouts as he takes out his own walker.

 

Harry responds without thinking, whipping to the right and lashing out with its knife. The walker collapses to the ground but more follow after it.

 

Rottie or Poodle, Eggsy isn’t sure which, manages to take out a couple. A bullet whizzes past Eggsy, nearly splattering his brains across the pews.

 

“Fuck! Watch where y’re firing!” Eggsy yells, briefly turning to Rottie. There’s a deadly cocktail of fear and hunger in his eyes, and Eggsy wonders if the shot was an accident. The few seconds he spares Rottie is enough time for a walker to overwhelm him.

 

He hits the ground, knife sliding across the floor. The walker is on top of him, a goliath of a man. He snaps at him, and Eggsy turns his head to avoid having his nose bitten off. He shoves his forearm under the zombie’s chin, pushing up at his dead weight.

 

“Fuck! Rottie, shoot him!” Eggsy shouts. Icy fear digs deep into his heart. When Rottie doesn’t shoot, when he just stands there and stares, Eggsy yells louder, “Rottie!” He cranes to look at Rottie, then searches for Harry. “Harry! Fuck, get off me, y’ goddamn bastard!”

 

There’s still so many of them, Eggsy isn’t sure where they came from. Two move for Harry, hands out and teeth snapping. Poodle is cornered.

 

With sinking realization, Eggsy realizes this may be it. He hopes Harry will shoot him before he turns. He doesn’t want to turn.

 

Harry can see Eggsy go down and he automatically lurches towards him. A pair of walkers block his path as Eggsy yells for Rottie and he focuses on the two of them, crouching defensively. When he doesn’t hear a gunshot ring out, doesn’t see Eggsy stand back up, his pulse races, vision tinged with red. He’s not going to lose the one decent person he’s found in this hell of a world. 

 

The walker pushes against Eggsy, and Eggsy’s back digs into his crossbow. An idea dawns on him, and he adjusts his grip, adding just enough slack to his arm that the walker nearly tears into his cheek as he struggles to reach behind him. He grasps onto one of his precious few arrows and tries tugging at it, pushing back against the walker again.

 

Eggsy grits his teeth and tugs at the arrow, but it’s pinned beneath his body. He glances around for another weapon, but there isn’t anything close. His knife is just out of reach. Eggsy pulls harder at the arrow, then jerks up and snaps it in half. He pulls the broken piece of arrow free, luckily the end with the arrowhead, and jams it into the side of the walker’s head.

 

The walker slumps against him, pinning him to the grimy floor. Eggsy sags, relief washing over him briefly, until he realizes he’s trapped under the three hundred pound walker, and there’s still a few remaining.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Eggsy shouts, shoving at the zombie’s shoulder. “Get him off me!”

 

Dispatching his pair of walkers with a few quick sweeps of his knife, Harry hurries over to Eggsy before the others can catch up. He drops to the ground, bending until his shoulder is underneath the corpse’s, levering it up and off of Eggsy. Breathing heavily, he gets back to his feet without a moment’s pause, facing the last few walkers streaming out of the sanctuary.  

 

Harry steps towards one of them, placing a steadying hand on its shoulder and burying his knife in the top of its skull. A bullet takes out the last and finally, finally, he has a second to breathe. He extends a hand towards Eggsy, silently offering to help him up.

 

Eggsy accepts Harry’s hand and stands. It takes all of Eggsy’s strength not to collapse into Harry, to wrap himself around the older man and draw strength from his comforting presence. Eggsy draws in a shuddering breath, and on the exhale, whispers, “Fuck, thanks, bruv. I thought I was a goner.”

 

It’s only reluctantly that Harry drops Eggsy’s hand. He can see the younger man shaking but it wouldn’t be wise to do anything in front of an audience. Especially an audience made up of Rottie and Poodle. 

 

Eggsy trembles, but he doesn’t know if it’s from his close brush with death or the bubbling rage at Rottie leaving him there to be turned into walker chow. He turns sharply to Rottie and Poodle, who kept their distance, using the pews as barricades.

 

“Wot the fucking hell! Are y’ fucking stupid? Y’ could have fucking helped, y’ arsehole!”

 

He’s half tempted to take the broken end of his arrow and shove it up Rottie’s arse. Rottie glares at him, distrust marring his expression.

 

“Y’ looked fine to me,” Rottie spits out acidically. “Got out, didn’t ‘cha? ‘Sides, grandad over there saved y’r sorry arse.” He sniffs, wiping his nose. “Fucking way I see it, y’ all would be walker feed if I hadn’t killed all the ones I did. Should be thanking me, y’ ungrateful cunt.”

 

“Thanking y’? Y’ left me to die, y’ bastard!”

 

“Should have,” Rottie spits out viciously. Eggsy doesn’t flinch. He knows Rottie would stab them in the back the soonest chance he got. “But y’re alive, and this place is clear, so wot’s it matter?”

 

Eggsy clenches his jaw. Poodle stands to the side, glancing between them, unsure. Eggsy snorts and grumbles, “Fucking wanker.”

 

Harry rolls his eyes skyward, sending up a quick plea for patience, though he doubts anyone is listening. “We don’t have time for this,” he mutters. “It’s bound to be getting dark outside, if it isn’t already, and the rest of them are waiting for us,” he reminds them. “Eggsy, Poodle, you two go get them. We can at least bring them as far as the sanctuary. Rottie and I will do a sweep and see if there are any we’ve missed.”

 

Little as he might like the idea of being alone with Rottie, it’s clear that he and Eggsy shouldn’t occupy the same space for very long.

 

Eggsy straightens and glances at Harry. He bites the inside of his jaw and nods stiffly. The idea of leaving Rottie alone with  _ anyone  _ makes Eggsy’s skin prickle, but he knows Harry can hold his own. He jerks his head towards the door and marches out, Poodle in reluctant tow.

 

Rottie watches Eggsy go with a glare, his grip on his gun tightening. When Eggsy is out the door, Rottie turns to Harry with the same mutinous glare, his jaw jutted out until he looks like the angry Rottweiler he’s named after.

 

Barely sparing him a glance, Harry moves further into the sanctuary, sweeping the beam of his torch in between pews, seeking out any walkers that might have been unable to stand or move. “You can stand there or you can help me,” he finally says, glancing back over his shoulder at Rottie. “But if you’re not going to do anything you might as well give me the gun.” He strides back over towards him, holding out his hand for the weapon. 

 

Rottie doesn’t hand over the weapon. He tightens his grip on it, a tremor racing up his arm, before he shoves past Harry and starts sweeping through the sanctuary, all the while grumbling under his breath about poncers.

 

Rottie exits the sanctuary and heads toward another hall, which seems to lead towards the bathrooms and a smaller chapel. Something slams against the stained glass wall of the chapel and rattles the door. He takes a step back.

 

“Fuck, there’s more,” he says.

 

Harry follows behind, keeping a wary eye on him the whole time. Until the door shakes in its moorings and he takes an involuntary step back. “Don’t fire,” he hisses, moving to stand beside him. 

 

“Wot the fuck do y’ suggest then?” Rottie demands. The walkers on the other side beat against the glass, shadowy hands slamming hard enough to leave a crack through one of the panes.

 

“If I ain’t shooting, then y’re opening the damn door. I got nufin to stab ‘em with.”

 

Harry narrows his eyes at the cracked glass. “I’m not opening the door. If they break through the glass we’ll take care of it then.”

 

Rottie looks from the splintering glass to Harry. “Y’ know, Dean was a good man. Better than the lot out there--better than y’,” Rottie says. “And here y’ come along and put him down, like he’s some kind of dog. And for who? That cunt whore.”

 

He aims at the glass and fires three rounds, hitting the vulnerable wall. The stained glass shatters, and the walkers spill out in a rush, slicing themselves on the jagged shards.

 

“That’s for Dean,” Rottie spits. He turns and bolts down the hall, away from the walkers that lunge for Harry.

 

Harry lurches backwards, automatically lashing out with his knife. It doesn’t deter the walkers in the least and he finds himself retreating step after step until his back is against the far wall. “Shit,” he hisses. 

 

One of them rips at his face and he drops to his knees, rolling forwards and knocking into their legs. The front pair stumble over him and he leaps up before they have a chance to recover. He stabs them in the base of their skulls, whirling to face the others squeezing their way through the door. 

 

He can hear their rumbling and realizes there are more than he first suspected. They keep coming, pressing up against each other as they clamber through the broken glass. Harry steps up into the doorway, using its narrowness against them. He buries his knife in the leading walker’s head and it drops. He repeats the motion again and again until he’s spattered in gore and the door is half-blocked with corpses. 

 

Eventually there are only one or two left, moaning, and clawing weakly at him over the pile of the dead. With a weary sigh he dispatches them as well, silence overtaking him once more. Exhausted, he reaches out a hand to brace himself against the wall, breathing heavily.


	10. Settle In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I got caught up in studying for midterms/the presidential debates and totally forgot to post the chapter yesterday.

Rottie makes for the back entrance. He crashes into Eggsy, and they topple to the ground. “Wot the fuck Rottie!” 

 

Rottie scrambles to his feet with a sneer, chest heaving. “Y’ ain’t callin’ the shots around here anymore.”

 

Jamal and Ryan helps Eggsy to his feet. “Wot are y’ goin on about? Where the fuck is Harry?”

 

In the dim light Eggsy can make out the maniacal glee glinting in Rottie’s eyes. Eggsy’s stomach drops and he shoves past Rottie, shouting, “Harry!” He turns and hisses, “So help me God, if y’ did anything to him--I swear I will--”

 

“Wot?” Rottie challenges.

 

Eggsy doesn’t stay to argue, he turns on his heels and bolts deeper into the church. “Harry!”

 

Harry’s head jerks up when he hears his name, squinting into the darkness. “Eggsy?” he asks, forcing himself to straighten up.

 

Eggsy skids to a stop at the edge of bodies, his eyes wide. He looks over the pile of corpses, oozing brackish blood.

 

“Jesus,” Eggsy whispers.

 

A wave of relief sweeps over Harry that it is actually Eggsy and not someone else he has to fight off. He’s too tired to deal with any more threats at the moment.

 

He meets Harry’s eyes, cataloging every detail, making sure he isn’t bitten, before he launches across the bodies. He knows it’s stupid. The last time he went to embrace Harry--admittedly, probably not at the best time, when he was so emotional--Harry had made it very clear he didn’t want anyone to see. But Eggsy doesn’t care. Because Harry’s alive and okay and Eggsy just wants to feel him, even for a short while.

 

Eggsy wraps his arms around Harry and hugs him. He doesn’t know if the stench is from the mountain of bodies or the fact that they’re coated in grime and sweat, but he inhales anyways. He allows himself a few moments to feel Harry’s solid weight against his. His heart is thundering, like a stampede of wild stallions. He tightens his hold, murmuring into his shoulder, “Fuck, I thought--I thought Rottie…”

 

For a second Harry is taken by surprise, finding himself with a body pressed against his and arms wrapping around him. The knife still in his hand clatters to the ground so he doesn’t accidentally hurt Eggsy, but he doesn’t hug him back, just stands there, unsure of how to respond. 

 

Eggsy pulls away, fury darkening his eyes. He spins around, just as Rottie and the others appear in the hallway. Rottie’s disappointment fades quickly as realization sets in--Harry lived.

 

“Y’ fucking bastard!” Eggsy snarls, teeth bared. He pulls his knife out and catapults over the bodies, going straight for Rottie.

 

“Eggsy, wait,” Harry says, reaching for him. He’s a second too late, the younger man landing out of reach just as his fingers close on empty air. 

 

“Eggsy!” His mother cries, as Jamal and Ryan curse.

 

“Fuck, Dais, come on,” Jamal says, tugging Daisy out of the way as Eggsy slams Rottie into the wall behind him.

 

“Eggsy, stop it!” Michelle shouts, struggling against Ryan who’s trying to pull her aside. 

 

Eggsy ignores them all, his anger palpable and all-consuming. He goes for a death strike with his bowie knife, but Rottie manages to deflect and elbows him in the ribs. Eggsy grunts and stumbles back.

 

“I’m going to fucking kill y’, y’ traitor,” Eggsy hisses.

 

“Traitor? Y’re the traitor! He killed Dean!” Rottie shouts.

 

Harry strides over towards them both, clamping a hand down on Eggsy’s shoulder before he can attack Rottie again. “Eggsy. Calm down.” 

 

Eggsy tenses beneath Harry’s hand, but he stills immediately. He glances back at him. “Harry?”

 

Rottie shifts, inching out of Eggsy’s reach. He wipes blood from his lip, where Eggsy had managed to get in a swipe, and huffs, “Fucking doesn’t matter. Bastard lived, didn’t he?”

 

Harry turns his attention to focus on Rottie, glare turning positively murderous. “Get the fuck out of here,” he says, voice low and threatening. “You’re no longer a part of this group. “

 

Rottie stiffens, somehow surprised by the threat, but then his eyes narrow. “The fuck I am. Y’ ain’t the one calling the shots.”

 

Eggsy clenches his jaw to keep silent. He can hear Daisy crying from down the hall. Poodle watches, an indomitable mountain beside Rottie.

 

Harry’s hand drifts towards the knife at his hip, fingers curling around the handle. “You might be too cowardly to kill me outright, but I assure you I don’t have the same hesitance. So either you walk out of here or I bury this in your throat and we drag you out, but one way or the other, you are leaving this group.” Neither his voice nor his gaze wavers and he slowly draws the blade, every muscle tensed.

 

Rottie looks at the knife, and the first realizations of what he’d done, and what he’d condemned himself too, creeps into his eyes.

 

He shoves off the wall, shooting Eggsy one final look--and for a moment it looked to Eggsy like Rottie might beg him, for what Eggsy isn’t sure, but his jaw wavers--before he stomps past Poodle, hissing under his breath, “Are y’ coming?”

 

Poodle hesitates for only a moment, then grunts and follows behind Rottie. Eggsy glances at Harry. Down the hall, Michelle calls, “R-Rottie, where are y’ going? Rottie!”

 

Harry doesn’t take his hand off the knife, his narrowed eyes fixed on Rottie’s and Poodle’s retreating backs. 

 

Eggsy draws in a deep breath through his nose and lets it out slowly. He isn’t sad to see Rottie go, doesn’t even feel guilty for sending him out into the hell pit, but the way his mother’s voice breaks feels like a knife driving between his ribs.

 

He hunches his shoulders and heads down the hall. Michelle clutches Daisy to her chest, both of their faces tear streaked.

 

“Eggsy, Eggsy Rottie is leaving,” Michelle rambles.

 

“Make sure he secures the door behind him,” Eggsy tells Jamal, not breaking eye contact with Michelle. “Mum, Rottie and Poodle are leavin’. They just, they ain’t safe anymore. They tried to kill Harry.”

 

Michelle’s expression sours at the mention of Harry. “Eggsy, they’re family. Y’ don’t send family out there.”

 

“No they ain’t, they’re Dean’s mutts. They’d sacrifice us all if it meant surviving. They couldn’t stay here, not when they were a threat,” Eggsy explains in a placating register.

 

Michelle lets out a hiss of air and shakes her head, one hand pressed to the back of Daisy’s to keep her face pressed into Michelle’s shoulder. “No, no y’re wrong.”

 

Ryan stands helplessly to the side. Eggsy tries not to flinch when his mother’s expression shifts from disbelief to disgust. Tries to tell himself it doesn’t kill him when his mother recoils from his outstretched hand.

 

“Y’ve changed,” Michelle accuses. “My Eggsy would have never done that. He was a good man.”

 

“Mum, I’m still y’r Eggsy.”

 

“No,” Michelle whispers harshly. “No, y’ ain’t. I don’t know who y’ are anymore. But y’ ain’t my son.”

 

It hurt more than anything Dean could have ever done to him. Eggsy turns his head away like Michelle slapped him, though she never moved from her spot. Whatever part of Eggsy that he’d been clinging to, what last little bit of himself that he coveted, breaks, and a hollowness rings inside.

 

“Ryan, take mum into the sanctuary,” Eggsy orders flatly. “Daisy needs rest. When Jamal gets back, see about food. I’m going to move those bodies so the stench isn’t so bad.”

 

Eggsy turns, meeting Harry’s gaze, and there’s a distinct listlessness in his eyes, the light gone so his green orbs echo black. Eggsy juts his jaw out, the tense line radiating up the side of his face, and brushes past Harry.

 

Somewhat disturbed by what he sees, or rather doesn’t see, in Eggsy’s expression, Harry finally allows himself to stand down. His hand falls back to his side and he almost reaches out to the younger man before he stops himself. Despite the months they’ve spent together he still knows so little about Eggsy. He has no idea if there’s anything he can say to fix this, or indeed if there’s anything worth saying.

 

Rottie wasn’t his fault, but Michelle wasn’t dumb, she knew she couldn’t lash out at Harry. Eggsy realizes this, realizes he’s just the easy target, but that’s all he’s ever been.

 

_ Just get everyone safe. Just keep going until they’re safe.  _ At this point, it’s all that is keeping him going. His only purpose is to get them out of the city, somewhere where the walkers haven’t reached. Then he’ll sort out what to do with himself. It isn’t like he belongs anywhere. Is wanted anywhere.

 

Eggsy clamps down on that line of thought. No point going into histrionics. Just keep quiet, work, and he’ll make it through. It had been his mantra every time he got on his knees, and it will be his mantra now.

 

Eggsy shrugs off his crossbow and pack, navigates over the pile of bodies to the other side, and starts dragging them, one by one, back into the chapel.

 

Wordlessly, Harry joins him in his task. He breathes through his mouth to avoid the worst of the smell, pulling corpses off the pile and depositing them in the much roomier chapel. 

 

Eventually they manage to clear out the doorway entirely, and he lets the last body fall to the chapel floor with a thud, straightening and heaving a deep sigh. 

 

When they finish, Eggsy wipes his hands on his jeans and says, “It’s late. We should eat and turn in.”

 

He heads for the sanctuary, where Jamal and Ryan have already made a small camp. A couple open cans of food and water sit out, along with a package of crisps. Eggsy takes a seat, back pressed against a pew, and accepts the food Jamal passes him.

 

“Rottie and Poodle are gone,” Jamal says.

 

Michelle’s glare deepens. Daisy is asleep beside her. Eggsy wants to reach out for her, to hug her close and find comfort in her presence, but Michelle keeps a protective hand on Daisy. Does she think Eggsy would do something to her? Doesn’t Michelle realize that everything Eggsy is doing is to keep them safe? He’d gladly lay his life down if it meant they could have a better one.

 

Eggsy doesn’t know how much more of himself he can give to the world. He’s already been weathered down to a shriveled core, mottled with holes and tears where greedy hands had stolen pieces of himself.

 

“Good,” Eggsy mumbles into his food and starts to eat.

 

Ryan hands over some food to Harry. “Where are we going from here?”

 

Harry accepts the food but he doesn’t eat it, just sets it aside for later. He’s too exhausted to do anything other than sleep at the moment. “We shouldn’t have too much further to go,” he says, passing a hand over his eyes and struggling to recall the route. “Might make it there by tomorrow.” 

 

It’s not an answer, and they all know it, but no one comments. Ryan and Jamal are too scared to say anything. Michelle doesn’t care. And Eggsy? Eggsy, pathetically, would follow Harry to the ends of the earth if the man asked for it. Sick, he knew. Especially when they’d only known each other for a short while. But Harry had been the only one solidly on his side.

 

Harry leans back against the wall, eyes already closing. Tiredness seeps through his limbs and he allows himself the rest he so desperately needs. They’ve cleared the place and are far enough back that he can’t imagine they’ll need a guard posted, at least for the night. 

 

Eggsy finishes eating and finds a small corner in the far end of the room to curl up in. Jamal and Ryan stick close together, tucked around each other, while Michelle wraps herself protectively around Daisy. Eggsy tucks himself in the back.

 

It doesn’t take long for everyone to drift off. Even with the sounds of wandering undead drifting in and out, the exhaustion is too deep to ignore.

 

Eggsy dozes off briefly, but he’s jostled awake by dreams. He’s on his knees, Dean at his back, client in front of him. He’s opening his mouth, ready to take the cock, when he looks up and it’s a walker looming over him. Eggsy starts, sweat slicking his brow.

 

He draws in short breaths, his heart racing. Through the dark he can make out everyone else. He narrows his eyes, trying to see if he woke anyone, then shifts and tries to settle back down.

 

It’s no use though. As soon as he closes his eyes, he sees the walker, sees death. And he wants to accept it, so badly.

 

Eggsy pushes himself up with a sigh and scrubs his hand down his face. He stands and walks over to the small camp, finding a half-empty water bottle. He takes a long sip. He isn’t going to get much sleep tonight. What little bit he got, maybe thirty minutes, tops, will have to do.

 

There’s static energy running through his veins. So much has happened in such a short period of time and it’s all blustering beneath his skin, a storm rolling through him. Eggsy pauses, studying Harry, and his pulse quickens again.

 

_ Stupid.  _ He shouldn’t get so attached. Shouldn’t fall so hard. Not in this world. Old or new, it doesn’t matter. Not really. Not with him.

 

Whatever had happened between him and Harry, whatever flare of happiness, was just a roman candle. Burning hot and then out as abruptly as it started.

 

Eggsy’s skin prickles. Eggsy had probably just been another warm body, comfort when everything seemed to be fracturing.

 

But Christ, how he wished for once, for one person, he could be more. Could be enough.

 

Eggsy bites his bottom lip, then shakes his head and sets his water bottle down. He retreats back to his spot, but instead of lying down, he leaves the sanctuary. He considers looping, making sure everything is secure, but as he makes his rounds, he ends up in one of the offices.

 

It’s quiet. He can’t hear the scratches or snarls of walkers. Or the gentle snores of his mum and Jamal’s chainsawing.

 

Eggsy digs through the drawers in the desk and cabinets, finding a few candles and some matches. He lights the candles, casting the dark room in a dim glow, and then pockets the remaining matches.

 

Everything is covered in a thin layer of dust. He swipes his hand over the desk, cleaning off the white film, and stares down at his reflection.

 

He takes a seat against the wall, wiping his hand off on his shirt, and props his head back. There’s something nice in the quiet. It reminds him of his closet, where he’d hide when his mum and Dean fought. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend he’s back there, safe and sound.

 

Harry’s face flashes in his mind.

 

Eggsy’s breath hitches. Safe and sound. It was becoming synonymous with Harry. Even if he was just a tool for Harry, a way to reach wherever it was Harry was going, he was still safer with Harry than he’d ever been. Harry had his back. Harry killed Dean. Harry made Rottie and Poodle go away. Harry saved Eggsy’s family.

 

Eggsy rubs at the still tender bruises left by Dean. The last reminders of him.

 

God, how pathetic was Eggsy? How fucked up was he, to blindly follow someone who’d probably gladly feed him to the wolves when the time came?

 

None of it matters, though, when Harry looks at Eggsy. Eggsy feels real. He is human, he is alive. He is  _ someone _ , and even if it is a mirage, a lie to keep Eggsy close, he wants to live in the facade for as long as possible.

 

Heat bubbles beneath the surface of Eggsy’s skin. He undoes his belt with trembling hands, hastily opening his trousers and fishing his hand into his pants to pull out his thickening cock. It’s heavy in his hand and burns his palm.

 

All of the electricity, all of the frustration, all of everything comes to a head, and Eggsy strokes himself. He doesn’t think about how he must look. How sad everything is. He only thinks about honey and whiskey eyes. He thinks about strong, calloused hands. He thinks about warm words and pink lips. About how soft they were. How amazing they felt against his.

 

How happy he’d been when Harry kissed him.

 

“Shit,” Eggsy hisses, his eyes squeezed closed. He swipes his thumb along the crown of his cock, rubbing the dribble of precum down his shaft as he increases speed. It won’t be a long wank. There’s too much boiling inside him. Eggsy groans, turning his head into the curve of his arm to muffle the needy whine. “Harry.”


	11. Confusion and Confessions

Harry’s eyes flicker open. Pain spikes again in his stomach, sharp and insistent, and he stifles a groan as he hauls himself into wakefulness. His eyes adjust quickly to the darkness and he hunts down the can of food he’d been given earlier. He finally cracks it open, lifting the rim of it to his mouth and tilting his head back. He doesn’t put the can down until it’s completely empty. 

 

Feeling better after a bit of rest and some food, he turns his attention to the rest of the room. Soft snarls fill his ears but he forces himself not to panic. The walls are thin, that’s all. There’s nothing in there with them. 

 

Automatically, he does a body count. Panic flashes through him when he realizes they’re one short. It only grows when he realizes that one is Eggsy. Harry’s on his feet before he has time to think. He makes his way quietly into the hallway, listening intently for any clue as to where he might have gone. When he doesn’t hear anything, he ventures forwards. “Eggsy?” he hisses into the darkness, but he doesn’t get any response. 

 

He pauses in front of an office door, the only one in the hallway that’s slightly ajar. Cautiously he edges towards it. Once he’s practically in the doorway, he can hear the sounds of heavy breathing and his hand falls instantly to his knife. But it doesn’t sound much like a battle. 

 

Then he hears his name, breathless and slightly muffled, and he slips inside the room, figuring he’s been found out. He stops abruptly when he sees the real cause of it, frozen in place.

 

Eggsy doesn’t register him, too consumed in his pleasure, in the temporary reprieve from his torment, to realize he has an audience. He squeezes the base of his cock, fingers clenching tight around his shaft while he drags his hand up, a rough twist that has him whimpering.

 

He tips his head back, exposing his throat, and the light of the candles flickers across his skin, casting him in a golden glow defined by flickering shadows. He adjusts his feet, spreading his legs wider, unknowingly providing a splendid view of his cock and hand to Harry.

 

Pleasure coils in his stomach, a deep pulsing pressure that works into a frenzy as he speeds up his hand. He tries to stifle his moans, but they slip from his plush lips like honey, tiny wrecked sounds.

 

Eggsy knows he shouldn’t, but he pretends it’s Harry working him into such a frantic state, and not his own hand. He pretends that they’re somewhere else. That Harry wants him. That he isn’t a failure. That the kind words Harry had said the night before were real, and that maybe someone really does love him, or at least care about him.

 

“Fuck, Harry,” Eggsy moans, strained and broken, the sound ripped from somewhere deep behind his ribs. He arches his head back further, pulling a tight line along his throat, his shoulders tense. He’s so close. So fucking close.

 

Harry’s mouth goes dry. It hadn’t been any secret that Eggsy was attracted to him, that much had been clear nearly from the start. This is more proof than he’d needed and yet he can’t bring himself to look away. Their brief snog on the sofa had reminded him how much he missed being physically intimate with someone and he can feel his own interest stirring at the sight in front of him. A little voice in the back of his head urges him to walk over there and replace Eggsy’s hand with his own ( _ something _ tells him Eggsy wouldn’t mind) but he restrains himself, staying where he is. 

 

Finally, finally, he manages to rip his eyes away, fixing them somewhere up near the ceiling. It’s too late to bow out gracefully; if he moves Eggsy is bound to notice him. So he clears his throat, says, “Eggsy,” in a voice ragged with desire. 

 

Eggsy freezes, hand squeezing the tip of his turgid cock. His breath hitches, his heart caught in his throat. He doesn’t open his eyes. If he keeps them closed he can convince himself it’s an apparition, that Harry isn’t there.

 

Harry is asleep.

 

He’s supposed to be asleep.

 

Why isn’t he asleep?

 

Eggsy opens his eyes and looks at Harry, who isn’t even looking at him--he’s looking everywhere but Eggsy. And, God, if that doesn’t drive it home.

 

He hastily tucks himself away, unable to help one last whimper as he tries to hide his erection, his face hot with shame. He doesn’t know if the world is shaking or if it’s him.

 

“H-Harry, I--I uh.” Eggsy swallows around a lump. “I’m sorry, I can explain--I--”

 

He won’t hold it against Harry if he wants to beat the shit out of Eggsy. Fuck, what was he thinking?

 

_ Fucking stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

 

Eggsy’s vision blurs, though he barely notices the tears that slip down his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, brokenly, flinching at the slightest movement. What must Harry think? Eggsy must look disgusting.

 

His mum is right. He isn’t right. Nothing about him is right.

 

And like that, what little composure he holds, what bit of drive he’s kept himself going on, collapses. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… I--” How does he mend this? What if Harry kicks them out? Eggsy could keep them alive, he could get them out of the city, but it would kill him. He’s already formulating a plan, all the while dying on the inside. “I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry, I won’t--again--I swear… I-I… don’t punish them because I’m sick… I’m sorry.”

 

Harry finally looks at him, alarmed by the way he’s stammering, apologizing for something he doesn’t really need to apologize for. Though, he supposes, he could have handled this whole thing a bit better himself. Clearly catching him at something like this would be embarrassing. He hadn’t been expecting this sort of reaction, though, and he takes an involuntary step forward, trying to think of something to say. 

 

Eggsy half pushes himself up, trying to struggle to his feet, but gives up and stands on his knees. He slumps, head bowed, and whispers one last time, “I’m sorry.”

 

Harry does go to him then, moving until he’s standing only a foot or two in front of him and getting onto his own knees, despite their protests. “I’m not going to punish anyone, Eggsy, least of all you. What are you talking about, sick?” His voice is gentle, softer than usual, and he reaches out to rest a hand on Eggsy’s shoulder, trying to assure him that he means what he’s saying.

 

Eggsy searches Harry’s face, tries to figure out if this is a ploy or a trick. It somehow makes it worse when Eggsy realizes it isn’t, that Harry just is that decent, that much of a gentleman.

 

“Wot I…” He can’t even say it. He licks his chapped lips. “I was thinking about y’, and I shouldn’t, I know…”

 

It’s not really the time for it, but Harry can’t help but smile a little. He’d been under no illusions as to who Eggsy had been thinking about. 

 

Eggsy looks away, cheeks so hot it feels like the candle flames were right on them. “Fucking joke, is wot I am. Nothing, and I was…” he sucks in a sharp breath. “I know wot happened before, it was just y’ needing a body, and that’s fine--I get it, that’s wot I’m here for.” And there it was. Told so many countless times that he was nothing, no more than a hole and a body, used and abused, what else is he supposed to believe? “Was being selfish, I just was tense, and my mind wandered, and… won’t do it again, swear down I won’t. So y’ don’t have to worry, not going to try anything.”

 

Dean hadn’t been a good person. Harry knew that much from the confessions he’d heard Eggsy give when he was defending his decision to kill him. He’d seen his enmity towards Eggsy and his family first-hand. He had thought that by killing Dean he would end his influence over Eggsy, but apparently that was not the case. Dean had gotten it into Eggsy’s head that he wasn’t valued, and it was becoming evident the longer this conversation went on that Eggsy still firmly believed that. 

 

“Eggsy,” Harry says, sharper than he means to be. 

 

Eggsy flinches.

 

“That is  _ not _ what you’re here for. You aren’t just a body and I… shouldn’t have treated that night like a mistake. It wasn’t fair to you,” he sighs. Mistake though it might have been, he should have seen how it would affect Eggsy. But he’d been selfish and tried to keep himself to himself; he had used Eggsy and that wasn’t what he deserved. 

 

“In case you’ve forgotten, you saved me first. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you,” Harry continues after a moment. “I owe you my life, I’m not going to hate you for…”  _ wanking to the thought of me _ , he thinks, but can’t bring himself to say. Instead he just shakes his head a bit, hauling himself back to his feet. “What I’m trying to say is, you don’t have to apologize.”

 

“Why do y’ have to be so nice?” Eggsy whispers. “None of this should be okay. Y’ should hate me. But y’re… just  _ stop _ . Y’ don’t owe me anything, Harry. I did wot anyone would have. And doesn’t make it okay, fucking makes it worse, it does.”

 

Harry makes a wordless sound of protest. “You did not do what anyone would have,” he counters. “Dean wouldn’t have. Rottie and Poodle wouldn’t have. Even Jamal and Ryan might have thought twice about it, but you put your life on the line for someone you didn’t even know.” 

 

His mind wanders back to the woman they’d found stranded amidst a horde of zombies. He had been perfectly ready to abandon her, but Eggsy had insisted on helping. And she hadn’t been the first. There had been the wall of IDs back in his old flat as well, other people he’d tried to save. 

 

Eggsy closes his eyes and draws in a shuddering breath. He tries piecing himself back together.

 

Harry stares down at him and tries to puzzle out what he’s thinking, but he can’t even begin to fathom it. After a moment he asks quietly, “Are you alright?”

 

Eggsy isn’t. He really isn’t. His entire being is splintering, and he doesn’t know how to mend it. How can he say that though? Make himself an even bigger burden.

 

“Fine,” Eggsy lies, opening his eyes. He should go. If he returns to the sanctuary, he can pretend this hasn’t happened. Only, he doesn’t stand. He can’t seem to find the strength. Or maybe it’s because he knows the minute he returns to the room, that’s it. Harry will go back to being  _ Harry _ , and Eggsy will be, whatever it is that he was. Harry said he isn’t just a body, but that was a lie.

 

His mum doesn’t even see him as her son anymore. All Harry needs is Eggsy to get him to where he needed to go. Eggsy still isn’t sure what Harry is after, but his elusive phrasing and dodged answers make it clear he has some alternate plan. And where does Eggsy fit into it? Just another expendable person to keep watch at night.

 

But if he stays there in the office, even for a little longer, he can pretend that Harry’s kind words were more. 

 

Sighing, Harry kneels back down, getting back on Eggsy’s level. “You’re not fine,” he says flatly. If he was fine, they would be walking out of there right now. If he was fine, Eggsy would be able to look him in the eyes.

 

Eggsy clenches his hands. He’s sure Harry’s patience is wearing thin. Eggsy hasn’t done much for himself. Harry probably sees this weak, stupid boy. The same thing Dean saw. The same thing his mum sees.

 

“I am,” Eggsy assures him and starts to struggle to his feet, forcing a smile that comes off more as a grimace. “I’m just tired. I shouldn’t have gotten up. I know I’m a burden, and I’m sorry, I’ll try not to be anymore. Swear down, I won’t cause y’ problems.” 

 

Harry stands with him, but he’s momentarily shocked by that. A burden? The same Eggsy who’s done nothing but look after his family since this whole thing started, the same Eggsy who’s helped him whenever he needed it, the same Eggsy who’s unquestioningly following him into what could be anything, thinks he’s been an imposition? 

 

Eyes sharpening, Harry takes a step forward, into his personal space. “You,” he says, and it’s almost a growl, “are not a burden.” He leans in before he can talk himself out of it, bringing their lips together in a bruising kiss.

 

Eggsy freezes when Harry’s demanding mouth is against his. Before he can stop himself, a moan escapes, because Christ. This is everything he wants.

 

He lets himself sink into it, to melt into Harry and return the kiss, before realization strikes. They’ve been here before. And Harry didn’t want it, not really. All he was doing was comforting Eggsy.

 

Eggsy shoves him away, breath ragged, and whispers, “Don’t.” Eggsy looks at him, and the walls he shuttered up fall, revealing a deep well of hope and hurt. “Don’t, not unless y’ mean it. Because when it comes to y’ Harry, I don’t know if I could survive just being a warm hole to fill.”

 

He’d do it, if he was being honest. If that was his only way, he’d do it. But he doesn’t want it. Not really, not if it isn’t real. 

 

Harry stops when Eggsy stumbles away, breaking the two of them apart.  _ Not unless he means it _ . The words circle through his skull and he’s forced to take notice of them, consider them, wonder what he’s actually doing this for. Why  _ had  _ he kissed him? 

 

Because he wanted to comfort Eggsy is the first reason that comes to mind. He couldn’t stand knowing the way he thought about himself and wanted to convince him it wasn’t true. However much he thinks he’s just a tool to be used, he isn’t, not in Harry’s eyes. 

 

The realization sets in slowly. All that time trying to convince himself not to get attached had only been necessary because he’d known it was happening. He had felt himself getting closer and closer to Eggsy and now it is far too late to convince himself he doesn’t feel anything for him. When they get to Valentine’s old laboratory, he’s not going to be able to cut Eggsy out of his life. 

 

Harry sucks in a deep breath, nodding once. “I meant it.”

 

Eggsy searches Harry’s face.  _ I meant it.  _ Eggsy doesn’t need to be told twice. He reaches for Harry, wrapping his arms around his neck. He kisses him like he’s afraid Harry is going to revoke the offer.

 

Harry accepts him without hesitation, one arm snaking around his back to hold them together. 

 

Eggsy’s mouth is soft. He parts his lips, teasing Harry’s with the tip of his tongue, testing the waters to see how much Harry will give. He clings, his hard body fitted against Harry’s.

 

With a soft moan, Harry’s lips open, tongue sliding out to meet Eggsy’s. He revels in the taste of him, unfettered by alcohol this time, purely Eggsy. He doesn’t pull away until he needs to breathe, ungluing their bodies until he can fit his free hand in between them. 

 

He cups it over Eggsy’s groin, smirking down at him. “I’m afraid I interrupted something,” he says lightly, innocently.

 

Eggsy’s cock had softened during his breakdown, but as soon as Harry moaned, as soon as his hand cupped him, familiar prickles of desire roll over his skin. He cants into Harry’s hand, his mouth ghosting along Harry’s jaw.

 

“Harry,” he murmurs, clutching onto Harry’s impossibly broad shoulders. He licks his way back to Harry’s mouth, sucking gently on his bottom lip. Emboldened by Harry’s own palpable desire, he whispers, “Y’ did, that wasn’t very polite of y’.” 

 

For a moment, Harry is too lost in kissing him to reply. When he regains some sense of thought, he moves his hand upwards, fingers slipping into the waistband of Eggsy’s trousers. He hums thoughtfully, edging further into his pants. “I think I know how I can apologize.”

 

Eggsy turns his head, pressing his face into Harry’s neck with a strangled gasp. He stands on his toes, arching into Harry’s touch. “Y-yeah? And how’s that?” he murmurs, his teeth grazing Harry’s pulse.

 

Harry doesn’t respond through words, just moves his hand until it wraps around Eggsy’s shaft. He savors the feeling of him shuddering against him as he starts stroking him, smirk still firmly in place. 

 

Eggsy reaches between them, his arms crossing Harry’s, hand blindly finding Harry’s pants. He hesitates for only a moment, before unbuttoning them and tugging the zipper down.

 

Harry tries not to notice what Eggsy is doing, focusing on stroking him, hand picking up the pace a little. He draws him into another kiss, sloppy and open-mouthed.

 

Eggsy wraps one hand around the back of Harry’s neck, holding his head in place as he sucks on Harry’s tongue. There’s spit smearing his lips, and he can’t seem to get enough air, but he doesn’t care, because he’s never felt this good.

 

The way Harry moves his hand leaves Eggsy quaking and he makes a ruined sound in the back of his throat, his own hand fumbling as he fishes it into Harry’s pants and fists it around his cock. He rocks into Harry’s touch, having to lift up on the tips of his toes in order to get the right momentum.

 

Harry is a solid weight in his hand, thick and velvety. He can feel the veins lacing his shaft, and he traces them with his fingertips, before firmly wrapping his hand around Harry’s base. He starts off simple, a gentle stroke of his thumb, coaxing Harry into hardness. He knows what he’s doing. He’s given enough hand jobs in his life to cause carpal tunnel. But he’s never wanted to actually do it before, not like now. Now all he wants his to see Harry come apart in his hand.

 

A shudder runs down Harry’s spine as Eggsy’s hand closes around his cock, enveloping him in a warm heat. For a moment his own pace stutters and he can’t think about anything other than how good it feels, how long it’s been, how much he’s been longing for something like this. He gasps into their kiss, has to withdraw so he can breathe again. 

 

“You know, if you want me to be of any use to you,” he says breathily, slowly starting to stroke Eggsy again, “you might want to leave off.” He’s keeping it together, but just barely. He can feel himself growing harder the further Eggsy’s hand travels and it’s a struggle to do anything but give in to the sparks of pleasure shooting through him.

 

Eggsy smiles cheekily, mischief lighting his eyes. “Maybe I don’t want y’ to be any use to me.” He leans up, mouth pressed to Harry’s ear. “Maybe I want to see  _ you  _ come undone.”

 

He licks the shell of Harry’s ear before dancing back, out of Harry’s reach. He tips his head behind him to the wall. “Come here, take a seat.”

 

Harry thinks about saying how shit of an apology this is turning out to be on his part, but he swallows that down when Eggsy draws away. Curious, he does as he’s asked, heading over to the wall and sitting down. Eggsy bites his bottom lip, hooks his thumbs in the loops of his belt, and with a roll of his hips, tugs his jeans down, managing to pull his briefs down with them. Harry’s breath hisses out through his teeth as Eggsy drops his pants, his bewildered eyes finding his face.

 

Eggsy laughs, and something other than melancholy sings through him for once in what feels like days. He’s sure it isn’t often someone like Harry is taken by surprise, and he relishes in his expression.

 

Eggsy removes his shoes, then shimmies out of his trousers and pants the rest of the way. His thighs are thick and muscular, built for endurance, and his cock curves up proudly from a bed of dark blond curls. Eggsy knows what the sharp v of his waist does to men and women. These hips had brought in so much money over the years.

 

It’s only so long that Harry can keep his eyes focused on Eggsy’s face. Before long, they’re trailing down over his body appreciatively, smoothing over the sharp lines of it. Merely looking, however, isn’t enough for him, and soon he beckons him over. 

 

He settles on Harry’s lap with a content hum, lifting up on his knees so that he can work Harry’s own trousers and pants down his thighs. They may not be able to fuck, but there is certainly a lot they could do instead.

 

Eggsy finally rests his weight on Harry’s lap, his cock pinned between their bodies. He takes Harry’s hands and sets them on his hips, murmuring, “I think we’ll both find satisfaction this way.”

 

To emphasize, he rolls his hips, grinding down against Harry’s prick while rutting his own into Harry’s stomach. He chokes back a groan at the slow drag of Harry’s cock and murmurs, “Christ, been dreaming of this.”

 

Harry sucks in a staggered breath as Eggsy moves, eyes fluttering closed. His grip on his hips tightens involuntarily and he has to consciously tell himself to loosen it up so he doesn’t leave bruises. “Have you?” he asks breathlessly, clearly teasing. “I hadn’t noticed.” 

 

When he gets his wits about him a bit more, he uses his hold on Eggsy to guide him, pulling him across his cock long and slow.

 

“Wanker,” Eggsy huffs out teasingly, face flushed.

 

He dips his head down, licking a stripe up the length of Harry’s throat. He makes his way up Harry’s jaw, mouthing a path to his ear, where he whispers huskily, “Y’ telling me y’ haven’t thought once about wot it would be like? Thought about y’r cock in my tight arse? Or me sucking y’r dick? Because let me tell y’, I have.” He swivels his hips, pressing down on the drag. “Thought about wot it would be like to spend all day sucking y’. Having y’r cock in my mouth. Start off just teasing the head--bet y’ taste so good--and then take y’ all the way in. Let y’ fuck my mouth, use it until y’ve had y’r fill.”

 

Difficult as it might be to continue thinking with Eggsy grinding down on him, Harry at least knows he’s thought about it. Even before the night on the sofa, he’d pictured them in a similar position to the one they were currently in, but hadn’t really let himself think it might happen. Now here it was. Happening. 

 

Groaning, Harry gives up on not trying to leave bruises on Eggsy’s hips. No one’s going to see them anyways. He fights the urge to buck up into the movement, letting Eggsy set his own pace.

 

Eggsy traces his tongue along the shell of Harry’s ear as he picks up speed. A whimper trembles past his lips and he whines out needily. “Harry.”

 

Harry finally releases him with one hand, moving it in between them. He wraps it around Eggsy’s cock again, letting him thrust himself into it as his head falls back against the wall, breath quickening.

 

“Shit,” Eggsy hisses and fucks into Harry’s hand.

 

He grabs onto Harry’s shoulders, nails biting, and nips at the underside of Harry’s jaw. The combination of pressure from Harry’s hand and the drag of his steely cock, leaves Eggsy in a state of wrecked moans and greedy pleas. His blood has been replaced by fire, he knows it, because he’s burning alive in Harry’s hands. He kisses Harry, sloppy and deep.

 

There’s a tightening in his belly, and he knows he won’t last long. Now that the flames have been reignited, he’s a powder keg waiting to go off. He pants into Harry’s mouth, begging for more--of what, he doesn’t know, but he just needs more of Harry.

 

Harry tightens his grip around Eggsy’s shaft, knowing he himself is getting ever closer to the edge. His thumb swipes over the head of his cock, precum smearing over his fingers and pulling a shuddering moan from his lips. He licks into Eggsy’s mouth, wanting, needing to find words but they all escape him. 

 

It all becomes too much. The weight and heat of Eggsy’s body, the panting, needy moans. He comes with a harsh gasp, head falling forwards to rest on Eggsy’s shoulder, every muscle shaking.

 

The feel of come painting his arse, glimpsing across his hole, warming his skin, leaves Eggsy sobbing. He presses his mouth into the curve of Harry’s neck, panting wetly, and ruts into Harry’s hand, all finesse and art gone; he’s an animal chasing after his release.

 

“Harry,” he moans against Harry’s collarbone, trying to muffle the cry as his orgasm pummels through him. He comes, hot spurts of come splashing up to paint Harry’s hand.

 

Eggsy slumps against Harry, wrapping his arms around his neck and mouthing his way back to his mouth, kissing languidly. “Fuck,” Eggsy murmurs between each kiss. “God, it ain’t fair how good y’ are with y’r hands.”

 

“I’ve had practice,” Harry smirks. 

 

Eggsy presses his forehead against Harry’s, studying him. A chill races down Eggsy’s spine, cool air hitting his sweat-slicked skin and the drying come. He searches Harry’s eyes, hunting for any signs of regret or disgust. His confidence wavers, old doubts surfacing as he feels the drip of Harry’s spunk roll down the cleft of his arse.

 

“This… this wasn’t just a one time thing, right? I mean... “ He draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I don’t want it to be.”

 

Harry closes his eyes for a moment, letting out a long, slow breath before opening them again. “It wasn’t a one time thing,” he assures him.

 

Eggsy smiles, really smiles, and the dimples in his cheeks are so deep you could drown in them. He swoops down and kisses Harry, and it’s different than the other kisses, it’s slow, exploring every detail of his mouth. He cups Harry’s jaw, holding him in place.

 

Harry’s mind is in turmoil, part of him focused on the kiss, but a larger part wondering what he’s just consigned Eggsy to. He should’ve cut it off right there and prevented things from going any further, but he hadn’t. Eggsy has no idea who he’s just saddled himself to and, if he should ever find out, Harry can’t imagine he’ll do anything but regret it. 

 

Kingsman is to be kept secret above all else. He can’t take them there, and if he does, they’ll only have their memories erased, provided there are any amnesia darts left. Eggsy can never know about what he’s done, what sort of person he was before the world fell apart. He can never know that it fell apart because of him. 

 

But for this moment he pushes that all aside, preferring to deal with the consequences later rather than sooner. For now, all he can hope to do is keep them alive.


	12. Changes

Eggsy slams his knife into the head of a walker. He rips it out no sooner than it pierces the supple skull. He turns sharply and repeats the motion, catching the walker that nearly took a bite out of his shoulder.

 

They’re overwhelmed. Outnumbered. They’re so close to the warehouse Harry seems to be leading them towards--and while Eggsy doesn’t quite understand  _ why _ they’re going there, he doesn’t question it--but the closer they get, the denser the walker population grows.

 

Eggsy kicks one walker in the chest to put some distance between them. Jamal has taken his mum and sister to a safer location, while Ryan fights with him and Harry. Eggsy’s muscles protest with each twist and turn, but he pushes through the exhaustion, dodging another strike and knocking a walker over. He curb stomps the woman’s head, splitting her skull open like a rotten pumpkin three weeks after Halloween.

 

He moves back, pushed further towards the warehouse by the mass of walkers. A parked box truck sits inconspicuously off the side of the road. Eggsy hauls himself up the hood, climbing the head of the truck and moving onto the top.

 

“Harry! Ryan!” Eggsy shouts, motioning for them to get up there. He sheathes his knife and swings his crossbow around.

 

Harry whips his head towards the sound, panic briefly tightening his chest before his eyes land on Eggsy. Safe. Or as safe as he can be, given their situation. He plants his foot squarely in the chest of an oncoming walker, shoving it backwards into two others behind them. 

 

They go down in a tangle of limbs, giving him enough time to sprint to the truck. He moves from the hood to Eggsy’s side in a matter of seconds, shoving his hair out of his face. 

 

This isn’t what he’d been expecting. He never would have dragged them all here if he had known a veritable sea of walkers was waiting for them. Except, he thinks, that he might have anyways because, it’s getting harder to convince himself that he really will ditch Eggsy when he finds Merlin. But he has to keep telling himself  _ something _ so he doesn’t just stop looking for him. There’s a chance they can still fix this. Or maybe not fix it, but at least improve. 

 

Harry takes a moment to catch his breath, scanning the surrounding area. Walkers dot the path towards Valentine’s old laboratory, the twisted barbed wire just visible in the distance. The breath leaves his lungs in a rush. Harry doesn’t know how they’ll ever make it. 

 

“Are you alright?” he asks, glancing over at Eggsy.

 

“Yeah,” Eggsy pants as he takes aim. He shoots a walker that was cornering Ryan, allowing him to race to the truck and climb up.

 

“Fuck, what do we do?” Ryan asks, his face streaked with sweat.

 

Eggsy scans the surrounding area, asking Harry, “Y’ wanted into that building, right?” He nods to the warehouse. He still isn’t sure what all this is about, but if Harry needs to get in there, he’ll get him there.

 

Nodding, Harry studies the building. He already knows that it’ll look like little more than a wasteland inside, but still. There’s the faint, very faint, possibility Merlin is camped out there, and if he is, he needs to find him. 

 

“We should turn back,” Ryan half-says, half-pleads. “There’s too many. Wotever is in there bruv, it can’t be worth it.”

 

“Oi, that’s enough, we got this,” Eggsy snaps. Though they really don’t.

 

_ Think, Unwin. _

 

He spots a fire truck parked to the side, then looks down at the truck they’ve mounted. “Ryan, y’ think y’ can drive this?” Eggsy asks.

 

“Yeah… why?”

 

“Y’ get Harry into that building, okay? When I get ‘em to clear, y’ drive like mad.” He turns to Harry, flashing him that familiar dimpled grin he’s now keeping on reserve for only Harry. “We’ll get y’ in there and y’ do wotever it is y’ need to do. Okay?”

 

Harry meets his gaze, unable to conjure up a smile of his own. This could turn out to be a suicide mission for no reason. If either of them die, it’s on him, and he has to force himself to swallow. “Alright,” he finally agrees, because what other choice does he have?

 

Eggsy really wants to kiss him, just in case this stupid plan doesn’t work and it’s the last time Eggsy will ever get to see Harry.

 

He winks instead, and then jumps off the back of the truck onto another one. There’s morbid nostalgia in the way he jumps from cars, like he’s a kid again playing the floor is lava. Only instead of lava, it’s ravenous zombies, and instead of pretend dying, he’ll be torn to pieces and devoured alive.

 

He tries not to think about that.

 

Harry watches him go intently, tracking him as he hops from car to car. 

 

Eggsy leaps onto an ambulance and nearly falls into the rotted hands of the walkers beating at the vehicle. Eggsy windmills his arms, having to drop his crossbow on the truck. For a few heart-stopping, precarious seconds he’s suspended in air, and then he regains his balance. He picks his crossbow up and turns to give them the thumbs up. He’s a little over halfway to the fire truck.

 

“Fuck, that wanker,” Ryan whispers, voice thin with worry. He shoots Harry a glare. “I hope y’re fucking worth this. Eggsy seems to think so--fucking hell. All right, hold on.”

 

Worry twists Harry’s gut up too much to bother with an actual reply and he just sighs. 

 

Ryan maneuvers down to the cab of the truck. The window is, luckily, down and he swings in. Walkers slam into the side of the truck, but he’s high enough that they can’t reach the window. He hunts down the keys, finding them discarded on the floor. “Oh thank fuck.”

 

Harry kneels on the top of the cab, reaching down to tap on the pane of glass to the passenger’s seat. If he doesn’t want to go flying off the second the truck starts, he needs to be inside. And he’d really rather not go flying off. 

 

Ryan rolls down the glass so Harry can slip in and then jams the keys into the ignition. He doesn’t turn it, instead looks through the driver side mirror to see where Eggsy is.

 

Eggsy navigates the wasteland of undead and cars, making it to the fire truck with a few close calls. He doesn’t pause to catch his breath. He slips onto it. The truck is still hooked up to a waterline, though the hose has long since been forgotten. It’s heavy, but Eggsy manages to hoist one of the hoses up and turn it on.

 

The hiss of the water is thunderous as it hits the concrete. Eggsy is nearly knocked off the truck by the force of the hose. He braces himself, teeth gritted, and cuts through the closest horde of walkers.

 

The walkers surrounding the box truck turn at the sound and meander towards the fire truck, surrounding Eggsy. He tears through them, mowing them down with the powerful gush of water. Bodies crumple, one after the other, most of them cut in half by the force of the geyser.

 

Ryan turns the key, but the engine scrapes. “Shit!” He tries again, pumping the gas. “Come on, y’ fucker, come on!”

 

The engine doesn’t turn over. He stops, face mottled red, and draws in a tremulous breath. The sound of the straining engine catches some of the walkers’ attention and they turn back around.

 

Harry should be worrying about the engine. He should be figuring out another plan, a backup way to get inside in case they can’t get the truck working. And maybe a small part of his mind  _ is _ working on that, but the better part of his attention is fixed on what he can see in the rearview mirror. It isn’t much, just a glimpse of Eggsy here and there, the spray of the fire hose as he wields it, but it’s enough to assure him that he made it there alive. 

 

Ryan tries again, and the engine catches and the truck starts. It rumbles to life and Ryan hits the gas, lurching forward. He blows through the surrounding chain link, barreling for the warehouse.

 

Their sudden forward momentum brings him back to his own situation. “Whatever you do, don’t crash into the building,” Harry warns. 

 

Ryan glances at Harry, the only acknowledgement that he heard him. He takes out a few walkers as he races to the warehouse. Their bodies crumple under the truck, soft bones crunching and being spit out the rear. He comes upon the building quickly and slams on the brakes to avoid slamming into the warehouse’s side.

 

Harry braces against the dashboard as they skid to a halt, hunching in on himself in an attempt to avoid whiplash. When the truck has come to a complete stop, he offers Ryan a nod. “Thank you.” 

 

With that, he’s climbing out of the cab, staring at the warehouse. A gunshot echoes in his mind and pain shoots through his gut. Even though, logically, he knows it’s all in his head, he can’t help touching the puckered scar on his stomach, letting out a long, slow breath. 

 

He peers back into the cab, looking at Ryan. “I have to go in there,” he says, tilting his head in the direction of the building. “But I can’t have anyone with me. Please, just… keep Eggsy out here with you.”

 

Ryan looks at him apprehensively but nods. “Yeah, okay.”

 

Harry dips his head gratefully before climbing back out of the cab and closing the door behind him. He doesn’t waste any more time, hurrying into the warehouse and hoping against hope that he’ll find who he’s looking for.

 

It isn’t as dark as Harry thought it would be inside the warehouse, the halls dotted with windows and pock-marked with holes as it slowly falls apart. Still, he’s overly cautious, knife poised and at the ready in case he should encounter any walkers. 

 

The place, however, seems largely abandoned. He walks through corridor after corridor without encountering so much as a single corpse, the only sound that of his own footsteps. He knows he’s nearing the heart of the lab when the smooth, unmarked walls become blackened and charred, the clear aftermath of the explosion. 

 

He has to stop and brace himself against the wall for a moment as memories of the last time he was here tear through him in a rush. Shaking his head sharply in an attempt to clear it, he pushes forwards. An open doorway looms before him, gaping like a dark maw. There’s nothing but darkness on the other side and he feels another wave of nausea roll over him. 

 

_ This is it. _ Ground zero. Everything that’s happened stemmed from that room and if Merlin is here, that’s where he’ll be. Harry digs out the torch he’d kept from their stint in the church, flicking it on and venturing into what used to be Valentine’s central lab. He stands in the doorway, sweeping the beam around the room, but it lands on nothing more than piles of rubble. 

 

“Merlin?” he calls, voice low. He waits for a minute or two but there’s no reply and the last of his hope fades away.

***

Eggsy takes out as many walkers as he can, clearing the yard. He stops only when the last body has dropped. He turns the hose off, arms trembling from the exertion of holding it, and looks over to the warehouse to assure himself Harry made it. He hops down from the fire truck, checking over the corpses to make sure none are going to reach out for him. A few are still alive, but severed at the waist so they can’t do more than slap their hands around. Eggsy stabs them in the skull with efficient speed.

Eggsy jogs to the truck, expecting to find Harry and Ryan waiting for him. When he doesn’t see Harry, he asks, “Where’d he go?”

His first initial fear is that he somehow got dragged into the fray. He turns and looks for Harry’s corpse, heart pounding. He isn’t sure what he’ll do if Harry is bit, or worse, already turned. With a sigh of relief, he doesn’t find him.

“He went into the warehouse,” Ryan answers, slipping out of the truck.

“Oh. Okay, let’s go,” Eggsy says and starts for the building. Ryan catches him by the arm. “Oi, wot’s this? Let go. Harry needs us.”

“He said to wait out here,” Ryan says.

Eggsy frowns and squints at the building. “Why? There might be more walkers in there, he needs backup.”

“I don’t know, but he wants y’ to stay here.”

Something leaden settles in Eggsy’s stomach. He swallows around a lump in his throat. He doesn’t know what is going on, why they’re there, or why Harry doesn’t want him there. He knows he shouldn’t trust Harry so blindly, but he also knows Harry wouldn’t lead them to their deaths. Whatever is in there has to be important. It just has to be.

But why doesn’t he want Eggsy beside him?

Surely he trusts Eggsy? He’s proven himself, shown he can fight, can survive.

_ No, it isn’t that.  _ Whatever it is, it isn’t about Eggsy. At least, not completely, Eggsy thinks.

He sighs and shakes Ryan’s hand off. “Okay, fine,” he grumbles and slumps against the side of the truck. “We’ll wait. But if he ain’t back out in fifteen minutes, I’m going in there, and if y’ try to stop me I’ll cold clock y’.”

Eggsy doesn’t stop counting in his head until he reaches fifteen minutes. The minute he says ‘sixty’, he shoves off the truck and starts for the building.

“Where are y’ going?” Ryan calls.

“To check on Harry. Y’ wait in the truck,” Eggsy orders, not looking back. He draws his crossbow, one finger on the trigger, and inches into the warehouse. He doesn’t know what to expect, but it certainly isn’t a lair.

The place is hollowed out and abandoned. There’s damage to the structure that’s definitely not from the walkers, as if an explosion had ripped through the building and left it derelict. He narrows his eyes, peering through the cloying darkness that seeps in around him, and makes his way through the maze of corridors.

“Harry?” Eggsy calls in a volume just above a whisper. He can’t make heads or tails of what’s scattered around the building. Corpses. Papers. Weapons.

Eggsy crouches next to the partially liquified corpse of what looks like a guard--at least, Eggsy is guessing, by the white uniform--and picks up the semi-auto. He shakes off the remaining strings of congealed flesh.

He briefly considers taking it, but then decides it would be too loud and sets it back down. Why the fuck were the guards so heavily armed here?

Eggsy continues on, bending down to pick up some trampled paper. The writing is smudged, with brown boot prints across the page, but he can make out some complex information. He doesn’t know what it says--it’s all gibberish to him--but he knows it’s highly technical. Whatever this place was, it was some kind of research facility, or something similar.

Eggsy drops the paper and works his way through until he comes to a large, open room that looks like it’s where the explosion centered. Fear niggles at the back of his mind. It’s a tingling, the threads of information slowly weaving together, forming the truth about what this place is and why it was so heavily surrounded by walkers. He spots Harry immediately, but doesn’t go for him.

“Harry?” Eggsy calls, voice small and eyes wide. “Harry, what  _ is  _ this place?”

Harry whips around at the sound of someone else’s voice, hand tightening around his knife. He doesn’t exactly relax when he realizes it’s Eggsy. “What are you doing here?” he asks, tone strained. “I told Ryan to keep you outside.” 

“Y’ve been in here for awhile, I got worried,” Eggsy says, then adds, “I told him I’d punch him if he tried to stop me.”

Harry sighs, but he can’t really blame Ryan. Knowing Eggsy, the threat might have actually been credible. 

He takes a step closer, looking past Harry. “This…” He narrows his eyes. He remembers the explosion. The news reports. The terror and bedlam. “This is where that accident happened. The one that was all over the news.”

He looks back at Harry. “Why did we come here, Harry? What’s going on?”

Harry steps out of the room, turning off the torch. “It doesn’t matter. Coming here was pointless.” His shoulders slump forwards. They’d almost died several times in their efforts to get here and for what? To spend a few minutes poking around the shell of a building that turned out to be useless. 

The only option left to him is to get to Kingsman headquarters and he doesn’t know how he can do that. He’ll have to leave Eggsy and the rest of them behind. “Let’s go back outside,” he says, exhaustion clear in his voice.

Eggsy wants to push for answers, but there’s defeat in Harry’s posture that he’s never seen before, so he clamps down on his questions and nods. He reaches out and squeezes Harry’s arm, silently offering support, before he follows Harry out.

Ryan is waiting for them at the truck, which is still rumbling with life. “Find what y’ need?”

Eggsy glances at Harry, then lies, “Yeah. Come on, let’s head back to Jamal and mum.”

Harry hauls himself into the truck, mind racing. Going off on his own is still a terrible idea, but at least now he’ll know where he’s going. He could make his way to Savile Row in his sleep. If getting there were the only problem, he wouldn’t have much to worry about. He’s learned how to handle the walkers by now and while it certainly wouldn’t be  _ easy _ , it would still probably be doable. 

No, the hard part now comes from his foolish entanglement with other people’s lives. If he leaves Eggsy and his family now, what will happen to them? After all, he killed the man that was effectively their leader, terrible a one as he might have been. He dragged them away from what they’d made their home, forced them on this trip, and now he has to leave them on their own. 

He schools his face into an emotionless mask, both unwilling and unable to let Eggsy know what’s bothering him.

Eggsy is sandwiched between Harry and Ryan. Ryan doesn’t seem to notice the tension brewing in the cab of the truck, or if he does, he wisely chooses to keep it to himself. Eggsy can feel it, though; a gulf has grown out of nowhere between himself and Harry, and even though his shoulder touches Harry’s, he could have been miles away.

He tries to catch Harry’s eye as they drive back to the church, but gives up and settles for watching the road.

When they reach camp, Jamal and his mum are delighted to see them return. “I was sure y’ were goners,” Jamal announces upon their arrival, patting Ryan’s and Eggsy’s backs.

Eggsy offers a limpid smile and punches his shoulder. “Thought y’ could get rid of us that easy?”

Harry remains silent, staying outside just long enough to make sure the area is clear of walkers before heading back into the church. 

“Fuck, I’m beat,” Ryan says and drags himself over to the small nest they’d set up at the back of the sanctuary. “Do we have food?”

“I’ll fix y’ something,” Michelle says. Daisy’s playing with a toy she found in the nursery. “Y’ all get wot y’ needed then?”

The question burns in Harry’s mind and he can feel himself tense up. Slowly, he turns around to face Michelle, scrambling to come up with some sort of explanation that won’t sound as hollow and flat as he feels. 

Eggsy glances at Harry again, trying to gauge his reaction. “Yeah, right Harry?”

Clamping down on what he knows he should say, Harry just nods, letting Eggsy’s answer become the truth. He can’t tell them he’s dragged them all out here for nothing. Or maybe he can… That would certainly make it easier to leave, if they all hated him. 

“So wot now, then?” Jamal asks, flopping down next to Ryan and leaning heavily against him. 

Harry clears his throat, straightening and facing them all square on. He avoids meeting Eggsy’s eyes, but his gaze glances over the rest of them, making sure he has their attention. “Actually,” he says, “I didn’t find what I was looking for. There was nothing there.” 

“What?” Michelle gasps.

Jamal and Ryan stiffen, Jamal crying out, “Wot the fuck?” as Ryan shouts, “But y’ said!”

Eggsy looks at Harry, confusion filtering across his face. He immediately turns, posture defiant and protective, and holds his hands up. “Hold on, look--”

“I risked my life!” Ryan yells.

Jamal shouts over him, “Why the fuck did we follow y’? Wot the fuck were y’ even looking for?”

“Calm down,” Eggsy continues, but he’s silenced by his mother’s sharp, “No.”

Eggsy winces and meets her withering glare. “No, Eggsy. We won’t.” She stands and points an accusing finger at Harry. “That man killed Dean. Kicked out Rottie. Poodle. We lost  _ family _ , for who? A stranger? For what? Nothing?” She shakes her head, tangled strands of hair, darkened by grease, clinging to her cheeks. “Babe, he’s got y’ wrapped around his finger, don’t y’ see? He’s leading us to our deaths. We were safe,  _ happy _ , and then he comes along.”

“No,” Eggsy says, practically hissing it. “No, y’re wrong. We weren’t. We were just existing. Barely even surviving. Dean and them--” He shakes his head. It’s a pointless argument. “Look, wotever it is Harry was after, there’s a reason. He ain’t just trying to get us killed.”

“Oh really? Than why won’t he tell us wot it is he was looking for? Wot we risked our lives for?” Ryan demands. “He’s told more lies than Boris Johnson. We’re past shite creek, we’re up the fucking shite ocean.”

“He hasn’t lied.” Eggsy bares his teeth, but he knows they’re right.

Harry hasn’t told them anything. He’s been keeping everything close to his chest. Why did Harry need to go to that place? What did that explosion have to do with everything? Why was Harry in the hospital?

Eggsy’s heart is going to burst from his chest.

“He has,” Jamal insists.

“Why don’t y’ ask him, babe, ask him wot we’re all doing here. Why he dragged us here,” Michelle says, jerking her chin at Harry.

Eggsy turns to Harry, eyes wide and pleading, and asks, “Harry? Harry, tell ‘em. Tell ‘em wot’s going on. Tell ‘em y’ haven’t been lying.”

Finally, Harry forces himself to look at Eggsy. He stares at him for a moment before his eyes narrow and he faces the rest of them as well, their anger and confusion nearly palpable. “I led you all here on an assumption,” he says and his voice is cold. “I thought there might be something I needed, but I knew I couldn’t make it on my own. You all proved very useful in getting me this far, thank you, but I’m afraid I don’t need you anymore. I’ve learned everything I need to know.” 

Were it not for his background, he wouldn’t be able to keep up this charade, he knows. But he’s a practiced liar and it all comes out smoothly, like he really means it.

Eggsy’s heart shatters. Heat rises up his neck. “Liar,” Eggsy whispers harshly. “Y’re lying.”

There is no way Harry used them. Eggsy refuses to believe it. To believe that what happened the night before--what was between them--wasn’t real, was all just a charade for Harry to get what he needed. Eggsy can still feel the heat of their skin, still taste Harry on his lips.

Eggsy had never felt something so real in his life. For the first time he believed he was more. Believed in everything Harry said. Believed in all the tomorrows Harry offered.

Now he was telling him it was pretend? A scam to get them to tag along, to help him achieve what?

No. That had been real. So fucking real.

“I knew it,” Michelle spits out. Disgust darkens her eyes. “Y’re a monster. Y’ led my boy on, got him all backwards, and now Dean is dead, and… and…” She chokes on a sob, tears brimming her eyes.

“Stop, mum, no.” He turns back to Harry. “Tell them it’s a lie. Y’ don’t mean that.” He waits a beat, and then shouts, “Tell them!”

Harry forces himself to meet Eggsy’s eyes, dragging his own stare up and down his body appreciatively. A bit of a smirk forms on his lips, heat kindling in his gaze. “ _ You _ were especially useful,” he says, voice low and husky. “I’m going to miss you.” That much, at least, is true.

“Bullshit,” Eggsy hisses, meeting Harry’s eyes challengingly. Everything inside him vibrates, a star ready to implode. In his mind, he keeps repeating,  _ Dean was right, Dean was right, Dean is always right. Worthless. Fucking worthless whore.  _ “Why are y’ fucking lying?”

His eyes burn, vision blurring, but he blinks them away. “Y’re running, y’ coward. Don’t fucking tell me that was nothing. That last night didn’t mean something to y’.”

_ Y’ said it did. _

Harry shrugs one shoulder carelessly. “Of course it meant something.” He steps closer until he can lower his voice enough so that the others can’t readily hear him. “It meant I had a little whore to fuck, at least for one night.” 

It’s a sucker punch that nearly makes Eggsy lose what little food he’s had that day. Not even Dean had struck him that deep. He’d gladly take a punch from Dean over the hurt that Harry caused him. Harry hadn’t just struck him, he’d flayed him open and eviscerated him.

_ Whore.  _

_ Whore. _

_ Useless. _

_ Nothing. _

Eggsy whips his crossbow around and takes aim at Harry. Every fiber in his body is coiled tight. His finger trembles against the trigger. He glares at Harry, tears burning his eyes. There’s no hiding the shame and ache, no masking exactly how deep a wound Harry had inflicted.

Harry takes a cautious step back, raising his arms in surrender. He eyes the crossbow, unsure whether or not Eggsy will actually pull the trigger. 

“Eggsy!” Michelle shouts, startling Daisy, who starts to cry.

Eggsy glances at Daisy, and the weight leaves his arms. He slackens his grip, lowering the crossbow. “Y’ leave in the morning,” Eggsy says with a hollow ring. “First light. If y’re here a second longer...” He steps close to Harry, until their noses are practically touching. “I may be just some fucking whore, but I can still kill you. The only reason y’ve made it this far is because of me.”

He shoves past Harry, making sure his shoulder slams into his, and storms out of the sanctuary.

As Eggsy leaves, so does what little composure Harry still has. His eyes flutter closed and he slumps as he struggles to keep up the facade. The others are still there, after all. He stalks over to the corner he’d slept in the previous night, gathering up what few belongings he has. One thing’s for certain, he won’t be sleeping in the sanctuary with the rest of them. 

He doesn’t look back as he heads out into the corridor, determined to hole up in one of the offices for the night. He’s emotionally exhausted, the tortured look on Eggsy’s face as he’d rejected him sticking in his mind. Even now, after he’d hurt him so badly, he wasn’t throwing him out into the night. He was letting him stay until morning. 

Harry avoids the room he and Eggsy had occupied the previous night, heading in the opposite direction. There’s a small room off to the left that he decides will do well enough and he closes the door behind him, sealing himself away from the rest of them.

Eggsy manages to keep himself together until he finds a room to escape to, ending up in the nursery. He closes the door, drops his crossbow, and takes in a deep, shuddering breath. On the exhale, he spins around and punches the wall next to the door, splitting his knuckles. Plaster and paint crumble to the floor.

Eggsy chokes on a sob. He won’t cry. He won’t.

His eyes burn defiantly, and he knows it’s useless. Everything about him, Harry has proven, is a mistake. All Eggsy can do now is try to right his fuck ups and get his family to safety. The plan hasn’t changed. Eggsy will try to get them out of the city. Get them somewhere the infected haven’t reached.

If there is one thing he’s capable of, one thing he can at least be useful for, it’s fighting.

Eggsy can’t go back into the sanctuary, see the accusation and betrayal in his mother’s eyes. He did this to them. He put his blind faith in Harry. He let himself be swayed by a charming smile and soulful eyes. He let himself believe he had worth and substance and purpose.

Not anymore. Now he buckles down. No one comes into the party. No stopping to save anyone. The only thing that matters is them. Eggsy and the rest of the world are expendable.

Eggsy finds some blankets, opens up the closet, and makes himself a small nest the way he used to when he’d flee Dean. He curls around himself, his crossbow within reach. He doesn’t really sleep, just tosses and turns, until his body finally gives out.


	13. Breaking Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Eggsy go their separate ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahahahahaha so y'all are really pissed at Harry. I know ya don't think he can redeem himself, but I promise Harry will make amends. We still have a ways to go before this ride is over. Thanks for reading~!

Eggsy wakes just before sunrise. He wipes the sleep from his eyes and stretches his stiff body, which has cramped from sleeping in the closet, and then exits the nursery. He returns to the sanctuary, but when he doesn’t spot Harry, he searches the room.

 

He hesitates at the door leading into the office they’d been in the night he rutted against Harry like a bitch. His cheeks warm. He shakes his head and goes to the next room.

 

Eggsy spots Harry. He holds his crossbow, keeping it aimed at the ground, though he has one finger on the trigger, and orders, “Get up and get the fuck out.”

 

Harry wakes the moment Eggsy enters the room, opening his eyes to find his crossbow loaded and ready to fire. He rises slowly to his feet, not wanting to give him any reason to shoot, and bends over to retrieve what little he has. He doesn’t look forward to leaving the relative safety the group provided, but he doesn’t have much of a choice anymore. 

 

“I’m going,” he says carefully, already edging out of the room. 

 

Eggsy’s throat convulses around a hard lump of emotion. He forces himself to meet Harry’s eyes.

 

Harry pauses in the doorway, looking back at Eggsy. For a second, the urge to tell him the truth wells up in him but he clamps down on it, forces only a cold hardness into his eyes. In the end, all he says is, “Good luck,” and then he’s heading out without a second glance.

 

_ Fuck you  _ is on the tip of Eggsy’s tongue. Instead he mentally wills Harry to turn around, to take it all back. When Harry doesn’t, he turns and heads for the sanctuary. They can’t stay either, and the sooner they get things together and leave, the sooner they can be out of London. 

 

******

Nights are the hardest. During the day Harry doesn’t need to stop for anything. He eats while he runs, when he has food, and he can see walkers from blocks away, even if he doesn’t hear them first. He makes good time towards Savile Row, but he’s on the exact opposite side of town and he knows it’ll take him two or three days to get there. 

 

The first night he barely sleeps at all. He breaks into what he hopes is an empty flat, sweeping it thoroughly before shoving the dresser against the door and attempting to rest. Every sound brings him back to wakefulness and what small snatches he does manage to get are tainted by nightmares, visions of Eggsy and the others succumbing to walkers. 

 

But he’s used to functioning on little to no sleep and he’s back at it again the next day, pushing on through the abandoned streets. He runs into a thicket of walkers and has to go out of his way to get around it, unable to take on so many by himself. Thankfully none of them see him as he ducks around the back of a building, skirting through lawns until their moans die out to a distant hum. 

 

The next day is worse. He still hasn’t gotten much sleep and it’s starting to lead to mistakes. He nearly walks straight into a man crouched behind a group of waste bins and has to dive into an alleyway to avoid getting seen. He plasters himself against the brick, edging his head out until he can see what the man is doing. 

 

He stays crouched down for a long time, staring at something, before he sticks two fingers in his mouth and lets out a long whistle. For a second, nothing happens. Then a flicker of movement catches Harry’s eye. 

 

Two figures emerge from a broken window further down the street, picking carefully over the glass. They look rough, the woman’s hair matted and wild, and the man with an ugly scar splitting half his face. 

 

Harry gets the impression that he shouldn’t make his presence known and he withdraws back into the alley, letting out a long, slow breath. He keeps an ear out, waiting for the trio to move on, but they don’t seem to be going anywhere. He can hear them murmuring in low voices, but can’t quite make out the topic. 

 

He’s just about to edge closer, maybe pick up on what they’re saying, when he hears a low, guttural moan from the back end of the alley. Panic spikes through him briefly and he turns to find a walker shambling towards him, opening its mouth to let out another telling moan.

 

***

 

The others are apprehensive to follow Eggsy, and he can’t blame them, but when no other option is available, they succumb and agree to push on.

 

Eggsy wants to say it’s easy. That he can turn everything off and just focus on killing and moving, but he can’t. There’s a hole where his heart used to be, and Eggsy realizes belatedly that he’d all but fallen for Harry, hook, line, and sinker. Harry’s absence is palpable, a steady throb that haunts Eggsy as he leads everyone through the city.

 

“We should just stay here, make a new camp,” Michelle had said before Eggsy got her to leave.

 

“We can’t. There’s nothing left here for us and staying would just prolong dying,” Eggsy had countered, and then shoved them all out the door.

 

His arrows are low. Their guns are cut in half. And there isn’t much food left.

 

Eggsy has to get them out of the city, get them somewhere safe. They work their way north west, picking through the graveyard of abandoned cars and buildings. There are a couple close calls with walkers, and Eggsy loses two more arrows.

 

If he thinks about nothing but the kinetic energy of moving and the feel of his knife splitting a skull open, then his thoughts won’t linger on Harry, on whether he is alive, okay, or injured and suffering. He won’t think about how even now, even after all the hurt, Eggsy still cares, still wants him, still wants to be wanted.

 

_ Fucking stop it. He don’t want y’. No one does. Only thing y’re good for is protecting y’r family, and y’ve done a shite job of that as it is. Time to fucking man up. Get mum and Dais somewhere. Keep an eye on Jamal and Ryan. _

 

His only purpose is to protect them.

 

And if he doesn’t buckle down and focus, he won’t even do that.

 

They hole up briefly in an abandoned building. Moving on foot, and having to dodge both walkers and bandits, meant they spent good portions of time sitting and waiting. A few months ago, what would have only taken an hour to travel, now takes a day.

 

Eggsy takes shifts with Ryan and Jamal for watching out, though Eggsy takes the longest amount of time. He doesn’t want to sleep. When he closes his eyes, he sees Harry. Remembers their kisses. Remembers Harry’s fingers gripping his hips. Remembers the weight of Harry’s cock. Remembers murmured words and promises.

 

_ You aren’t a burden. _

 

_ Liar. _

 

****

 

Eggsy looks back, making sure his mum is close. Jamal takes the rear, while Ryan stays close. Everyone is exhausted, but Eggsy doesn’t want to stop. He wants to reach the edge of the city by sundown.

 

“Come on,” Eggsy says and continues down the street.

 

“Eggs, babe, we’re tired. We need rest,” Michelle calls. “Daisy can barely keep upright.”

 

“Yeah, mate, we’re all knackered,” Ryan agrees.

 

“We stop now, we won’t make it by sundown. We’ll break then.” Eggsy doesn’t stop, even as sweat beads on the back of his neck and rolls down his collar.

 

“Did y’ hear that?” Jamal asks. “Eggsy, stop.”

 

“No, Jamal, we’re--”

 

“Seriously, listen,” Jamal snaps and cocks his head to the side.

 

Eggsy stops, Ryan nearly walking into him, and strains to listen. There’s a distinct shuffling sound echoed by a collective groan. Eggsy frowns and holds his hand up. “Wait here,” he instructs, then jogs down the street that intersects with the one they’re on. He pauses, checking the post. It reads BURLINGTON GARDENS. “Fuck.”

 

They’re close to the Royal Institute of Great Britain, the Royal Academy of Arts, and all the shops that Burlington Gardens runs through.

 

Moving at a steady pace is a herd of walkers, more than Eggsy can count. It’s a stampede of the undead, migrating down Burlington from the academy.

 

_ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _

 

Eggsy races back to the others, his heart lodged up with his uvula, and barks, “We have to move,  _ now _ !”

 

****

 

Harry freezes, mentally scanning through his options. The walker will sense him any minute now if it keeps on its current course, or worse, the bandits will hear it and come to investigate. Inch by inch, his hand edges towards the knife strapped to his hip, not wanting to call attention to himself with any sudden movements. 

 

The walker’s head jerks towards him just as his fingers curl around the grip. It lets out a nasty snarl, instantly reaching out for him. 

 

He doesn’t waste any more time debating, launching himself forwards and burying his blade in its skull. It drops with an audible thump and he can hear the conversation at the mouth of the alley die. Shit.

 

*****

 

Eggsy’s thighs burn. His lungs fill with embers. He can’t breathe. But he doesn’t stop running.

 

Daisy is crying in his arms. His mum couldn’t carry her anymore. Eggsy can’t even calm her as he takes the corner. The herd is behind them, increasing speed, turning into a ravenous mob.

 

_ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _

 

He wishes Harry was here. It’s stupid, he knows, but he wishes it. Wishes that if this is the last time he’s going to be alive, at least he could see him one final time.

 

And doesn’t that make him pathetic.

 

Eggsy turns the corner, stopping when three sets of eyes land on him. Ryan, Jamal, and his mum nearly take him out. The strangers--bandits from the look of it--stiffen, drawing up together, ready to fight.

 

Eggsy looks back at the encroaching mob, their groans heralding the death to come. Eggsy tightens his grip on Daisy, whispering into her hair, “It’s okay luv, big bruv gots y’. Ain’t nuffin going to happen.”

 

Only, he doesn’t know how to get them out of this one.

 

_ Think, Eggsy. Fucking think. _

 

****

 

Something’s wrong, Harry thinks. He’s killed the walker but he can still hear moaning. If anything, it seems to be getting louder. Three shapes appear in the mouth of the alley and he stiffens, ready for an altercation. 

 

But whatever the three bandits are looking at, it isn’t him. Their gazes are fixed on something he can’t see and their smiles turn ugly.

 

“Well, well, well, what’ve we got ‘ere?” one of them rasps, drawing out a nasty, serrated blade. The other two follow suit, one brandishing a nail-studded baseball bat, the other a handgun. 

 

“Jamal, take Daisy,” Eggsy orders, passing his sister over to him. She makes a grab for Eggsy, whimpering when he untangles her limbs.

 

Harry stiffens immediately. He knows that voice. Cautiously he creeps to the mouth of the alley, peering out and praying he’s wrong, but he isn’t. Eggsy is standing there confronting the bandits. 

  
He should leave. He should walk out the other end and be done with it, but his feet seem to be stuck to the pavement and he doesn’t move.


	14. I Hurt Myself Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Eggsy confront one another in the aftermath of their run in with the bandits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter! I couldn't find a good cut off point so here's a big one! Hopefully y'all like it because this'll be the chapter that gives Harry and Eggsy some resolution involving their fight.

Eggsy can hear the walkers getting closer. They don’t have time for this. He palms his knife, telling Ryan, “When I move, y’ make a break for it. Take the others and run as far as y’ can.”

 

The three bandits exchange glances amongst themselves, smirking. Three on one sound like good odds to them.

 

“Eggsy--”

 

“I’ll be fine. Just do it. Keep them safe.” He doesn’t break eye contact with the bandit that spoke--the leader, Eggsy surmises.

 

He counts to ten under his breath, taking account of the weapons each bandit is carrying. There won’t be any surviving the fight, but maybe, if Eggsy can injure them enough, they’ll slow down the horde, distract them. If Eggsy is lucky, he’ll get killed before the herd arrives.

 

Maybe this is how he amended all of his mistakes, for being born such a fuck up.

 

Eggsy launches forward, raw, unbridled energy. He goes for the one with the gun first. Twisting and dodging. There’s a deafening gun crack and a bullet whizzes past him, but he doesn’t stop. He’s possessed. Driven to the brink, only a single thought holding him together:  _ protect them. _

 

Harry silently begs Eggsy to be selfish for just this once, turn tail and flee with the rest of the group as they hurry off. They sprint away and Eggsy stays behind, throwing himself into a battle he can’t possibly win. 

 

“Dammit,” Harry hisses, and then he’s out of the alley, crashing into the back of the bandit holding the gun. It fires and he can hear the moaning grow even louder; he still doesn’t know where it’s coming from, but right now he has more immediate problems. 

 

The man stumbles forwards and Harry uses his momentum against him, practically falling on him, knee planted firmly in the small of his back. Before he has a chance to recover, he clamps his hands on either side of his face, hauling his head back. Then, mercilessly, he slams it into the ground. 

 

There’s the sharp crack of bone and the man falls limp beneath him. Harry jumps back to his feet, already whirling to meet the woman, her face twisted in shock and anger.

 

Harry ducks the first sweep of her bat, using his new, low position to ram his elbow into her stomach. The weapon falls from her hand as she doubles over. He folds his hands together, bringing them down club-like on the back of her neck. She joins her companion on the ground. 

 

Eggsy stumbles back in surprise, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of Harry. For a minute he just stands there, eyes wide, and then a knife slices across his side and a lance of pain launches him into action. He twists around, driving his knife into the throat of the leader. The man clamps his hand around his throat, blood seeping through his fingers, and gurgles. Thick streams flow from the corners of his mouth.

 

Eggsy steps back and glances down the street. “Fuck.” He looks at Harry and grabs his arm, hauling back. “We have to go, there’s a horde!”

 

His shirt clings to his side, soaked through with blood, but he ignores it as he starts in the direction Ryan led the others.

 

The moaning is nearly overwhelming and  Harry decides now isn’t the best time to stop and have a little catch-up with Eggsy . “A horde?” he repeats, feet already moving to follow him. 

 

“Yeah, and it’s right behind us!” Eggsy doesn’t stop running until he catches up with Ryan and the others.

 

Harry can do nothing but follow. From the sounds behind them it’s easy enough to put together what he means by ‘horde’. He can’t help but wonder how the others will react to his sudden reappearance.

 

Ryan stands in the middle of the street, only a couple down from Savile Row, and looks around. Either the horde split or another one had started, but in the distance Eggsy makes out row after row of shambling bodies. His heart lurches.

 

“Fuck, where the fuck are we supposed to go?”

 

Out of instinct he looks to Harry, still seeking guidance, even though he knows it’s stupid. Harry made his decision. He doesn’t want them, doesn’t want Eggsy.

 

Harry takes a second to get his bearings, slightly out of breath from the fight directly followed by a run. He knows exactly where they are. He also knows exactly where they should go. But there’s no reason why they should even follow him, not after he betrayed them all. 

 

“I… I know a place,” he says, drawing himself up and trying to look more confident than he feels. If they don’t follow him, they’ll be torn to pieces.

 

Eggsy looks at Harry. Out of everyone, he shouldn’t trust him. But he doesn’t have any options, and it’s either follow Harry or face the monsters at their backs.

 

“Okay,” Eggsy says with a jerking nod. “We follow you.”

 

At least for now. Once they’re free of the walker herd, Eggsy will sort out what to do next. He’s sure Harry doesn’t want to keep them around.

 

Harry meets his gaze for a second, barely able to believe that he’s actually said yes. He doesn’t waste any more time thinking about that. Instead, he turns and heads for Savile Row.

 

Eggsy and the others follow Harry to Savile Row. He looks over his shoulder, waiting for the herd to come rampaging down the street for them. He keeps close to Harry, accepting his crossbow back from Ryan. When a stray walker appears, he takes him out with an efficient shot, retrieving his arrow as they pass the corpse.

 

Harry’s long since lost his key to the shop and he just prays the biometric backup system is still in place, still working even after all this time. He rounds the corner on the familiar street, spotting the tailor shop he’s been looking for. There’s nothing for it, not anymore. 

 

He makes his way to the door, pressing his thumb to the small sensor hidden just underneath the handle. There’s a small whir and then the click of the lock as it flicks open. Relieved, Harry opens the door, heading into the darkened shop. 

 

It’s mostly intact, even with everything that’s happened. The average person wouldn’t have been able to break in and he assumes most of the Kingsman agents would have been called to HQ immediately after the outbreak, so it wouldn’t have seen much traffic after they’d all arrived.

 

“Why the fuck did we go to a tailor shop?” Ryan asks as they enter Kingsman. Eggsy shuts the door behind them and locks it.

 

Hopefully now that they’re out of sight, the walkers will lose their scent. Eggsy looks around the posh shop, afraid to touch anything--ridiculous, since it is the apocalypse, but he’s still apprehensive.

 

“Does it matter? We’re safe,” Jamal says.

 

Eggsy doesn’t comment. He watches Harry silently for a moment, and then says, “We’ll stay here until the herd passes. Hopefully by morning we can be on our way.”

 

Once they’ve all filed in, Harry reactivates the biometric lock, hearing the small hum as the security system starts up again. He turns to face Eggsy when he speaks.

 

Eggsy meets Harry’s gaze with a cold, distrusting glare. “Don’t worry, we won’t be in y’r hair long.”

 

“And what about when the next one comes along?” Harry snaps, unsure of what he’s trying to do. Eggsy is offering him an easy out; he’s volunteering to get out of his way and here Harry is trying to convince him not to go back out there. “Or the next time you feel like throwing yourself into a fight where you’re clearly outnumbered?”

 

“Doesn’t much matter to y’, now does it?” Eggsy shoots back, unflinching. “Far as y’ can see, we’re just canon fodder. A bunch of plebs y’ can use and then toss aside when it’s convenient for y’.”

 

Harry sweeps his arm around to indicate the interior of the shop. “Does this look like it’s convenient for me?” 

 

Eggsy scoffs. “Don’t act like y’ give a damn about us, y’ in y’r fucking ivory tower. Should have known from the beginning y’ only cared about y’r self.” He sniffs and tells himself it isn’t because he’s going to cry. “Wot I do to protect my own ain’t none of y’r business anymore. But see, here’s the difference between y’ and me, I actually protect those I care about. I don’t abandon them.”

 

“Eggsy,” his mum says, voice thin.

 

“Wot?” Eggsy snaps without meaning to.

 

She winces and points at his side. “Y’re bleeding, luv.”

 

Eggsy blinks and looks down at his shirt, soaked through with blood. He lifts it up and winces, his face visibly paling. It isn’t deep, but there’s a lot of red, deceptively bright, and if he isn’t careful he can easily get septic.

 

“Shit,” he hisses.

 

Harry glances at the wound as well. “Stay here,” he says after a brief pause, turning and heading for the back of the shop. His turn to play healer, he supposes. He’s already gotten the rescuer bit down. 

 

He passes through the hall, fitting rooms dotting the corridor, before he stops at the last room, the regular employee break room they’d had installed to keep up the facade. They’d been thorough in their details, exactly what Harry was counting on. Shoved in the back corner of a cabinet he manages to find an old first aid kit, unused since the moment it was put there. Kingsman’s medical bay proved more useful to them than something like this ever would have. 

 

He returns to the main showroom with it, hesitating before offering it out to Michelle.

 

Michelle accepts the medical kit. Jamal takes Daisy. Eggsy moves over to a seat, stripping out of his shirt so his mother can tend to the wound. He glares at Harry, jaw clenched.

 

Harry stares steadily back at him, unwilling to back down. They’re in his territory now, bad as that might be for Harry.

 

Michelle is thorough in her cleaning, wiping off all the blood and applying antiseptic to prevent infection. She bandages it up gingerly, stroking the cotton as she presses down on Eggsy’s skin.

 

“How’s that?” she asks.

 

“Fine,” Eggsy mumbles, followed by a quieter thank you.

 

Michelle stands when she finishes, gathering up the garbage and throwing it away. She draws in a slow breath and lets it out through her nose, looking between Harry and Eggsy. “Look,” she says, “right now there isn’t any point in arguing.” She shoots Harry a glare. “I don’t like y’. As far as I can see, y’re a snake. But it seems there’s a mutual benefit in remaining together, at least for tonight.”

 

Slightly taken aback at how lightly he’s getting off, Harry just blinks at her, finally taking his gaze off Eggsy. 

 

Eggsy opens his mouth to argue and she turns her paint-peeling glare on him. “Shut it. It’s the truth. We can’t go out there, and y’re running y’r self ragged. I know y’ haven’t been sleeping.”

 

Eggsy huffs, not meeting her eyes. He hasn’t. He can’t.

 

“For the mo’, let’s just bank the argument. We can’t go anywhere, so what’s the point in fighting? When morning comes, we’ll figure out wot to do next. Whether it’s work together or go our separate ways, all right?”

 

Eggsy squints at his mother. It’s the first sensible thing she’s said since everything began. He isn’t sure if it’s because Dean’s influences have finally worn off, or the alcohol and drugs have finally purged from her system, but even with the deep set wrinkles and rings of black around her eyes, she’s the closest she’s ever been to his mother before his dad died.

 

Eggsy swallows back his argument. She’s right. He nods and says, “Okay. Okay, no fighting.”  

 

Harry presses his lips together. “No fighting,” he echoes, mentally adding ‘in front of Michelle’ to that promise. 

 

He walks over to the display window, curtained up to keep out curious eyes, and flips back one of the edges. The walkers have reached the very end of the street, moving forwards relentlessly. He doesn’t stay there long, moving back before any of them notice him. They’re unlikely to break through the bulletproof glass but he could do without them pounding on it all night. 

 

“It’s safe in here,” he says, speaking to all of them and looking at none of them. “You can get some rest.” 

 

Eggsy snorts derisively but doesn’t comment. After they dig out some food from what supplies they brought and eat, the others find a corner and turn in for the night. Daisy has cried herself to sleep. Eggsy watches them from across the room, a chair propped against the wall.

 

Exhaustion is heavy in his eyes, but he stubbornly remains awake, occasionally looking around the tailor shop. He’s sure the mannequins in the window are wearing suits that cost more than what he’s made in his short, pathetic life.

 

Why did Harry bring them here?

 

How did he know about this place?

 

Did he used to be a tailor? If so, he definitely wasn’t like any tailor Eggsy has ever seen.

 

Harry watches impassively as the others settle in, leaning against the wall near the storefront window. He can hear the walkers getting closer with every passing moment, their shuffling footsteps beginning to mix in with the moans. It will be a miracle if he gets any sleep himself. 

 

Still, once everyone has nodded off except Eggsy, he sighs, pushing himself off the wall and going over to stand near him, lowering his voice so as not to disturb anyone else. “I meant it. This place is safe. You should sleep.”

 

Eggsy looks up at Harry, and he wishes his heart didn’t race when their eyes meet. He wishes he didn’t still want to feel those lips against his. Wishes he wasn’t so desperately hung up  on a man that couldn’t give two shits about him.

 

“Not all of the monsters are outside,” Eggsy whispers. He turns away, going back to watching Daisy as she sleeps.

 

Harry tenses at that, but he doesn’t say anything. He fully deserves Eggsy’s suspicions.

 

“You won’t be able to protect any of them if you’re too exhausted to even stand in the morning,” Harry points out. “And if I wanted you dead all I would have had to do was leave you out there with the walkers; I’m not going to hurt any of you. What purpose would that serve?” 

 

If Eggsy’s working under the assumption that he’s only interested in taking care of himself, so be it. He can work with that just as easily as anything else. This is, after all, what he’s used to. What he’s good at.

 

“What purpose did it serve before?” Eggsy asks. The bit of food he’d managed to eat congeals in his stomach, sitting like a stone inside him. “What purpose was there in jerking me off? How did that serve y’r agenda? Y’ already hurt us, Harry. Hurt me. So just fuck off already.”

 

He doesn’t want to talk to Harry. Doesn’t want to look at him. Because every time he does, he’ll remember. Remember warm hands. Hot lips. Soothing words whispering promises that wouldn’t be kept.

 

‘I didn’t want to hurt you’ springs to Harry’s lips but he forces them closed. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d needed to, and look where they’d ended up anyways. When Eggsy walks out of there in the morning it will solve all of his problems. He just has to let him walk out. 

 

“You had outlived your usefulness,” he hisses, moving back to his position near the window. He folds his arms over his chest, staring at the curtains and listening to the encroaching horde. They’ll be there any minute now, heading slowly past the shop and then on towards wherever it is they’re going.

 

Eggsy flinches--God help him, he flinches--and looks away. Fuck if Harry didn’t know where to strike, where to kill. He didn’t just slip the blade in, he twisted it, jerked it, and tore it through Eggsy’s heart until there was only a pulpy mess left.

 

It’s the same thing he’d heard time and time again growing up. And maybe Harry is right. After all, they’re in this mess, weren’t they?

 

Eggsy stands, his hands clenched at his sides. He doesn’t glare at Harry, doesn’t have it in him anymore to do so. He’s tired. Tired of everything. Of running. Of fighting. Of hurting.

 

All he wants is to go to sleep and never wake up.

 

“Y’ know,” Eggsy says, his tone surprisingly calm, “I never thought I’d meet anyone worse than Dean. And then y’ walked into my life. At least Dean didn’t pretend to be something he wasn’t.”

 

Eggsy turns and walks out of the room. He needs to get away, and if he can’t go outside, he might as well explore the shop. He heads upstairs, unknowingly heading towards the meeting room.

 

He wanders into the meeting room, raising his eyebrows at the ornate mahogany table in the center. There’s a fine layer of dust over everything, but even then he can tell that the room is important. Why would tailors need such an impressive table?

 

He stops in front of the portraits and studies the one level with him. This place stinks of pomp and circumstance, from the carved moldings, to the gilded frames of the paintings.  

 

Harry turns to tell him he should have just left him in the goddamn hospital courtyard, but he isn’t there. His eyes narrow and he struggles to hear anything over the clamor outside, but it’s hopeless. He heads down the hallway, but all the doors are still closed, minus the one at the back that he’d left ajar. He pokes his head in, but there’s no sign of Eggsy and he goes back to the showroom. 

 

The only option left is the next floor and he climbs the staircase, the noise from the outdoors slowly fading away behind him.

 

There’s only one room worth being in upstairs and Harry heads straight to it, pausing in the doorway when he sees Eggsy admiring the paintings. All the founders of Kingsman, their legacy turned into nothing more than a walker refuge. For now. Until Harry can find a way to make this right. 

 

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he says. “You should be down there with the rest of them, asleep. You said you would leave first thing in the morning.”

 

“Don’t worry, we will,” Eggsy assures, not commenting on the fact that he wasn’t asleep. “Who are they? Don’t look like no tailors I’ve ever seen.” 

 

“World War Two heroes, now go downstairs. You won’t forgive yourself if something happens to them because of you,” Harry says, still lingering in the doorway.

 

“No, damn it!” Eggsy finally snaps. He turns on Harry, his chest heaving. “I’m not going to bed. I don’t want to.”

 

It sounds so childish, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to sleep. He doesn’t want to dream.

 

“Why do y’ even care? It doesn’t matter to y’,” Eggsy says. He doesn’t get it. If all he was to Harry was a piece of arse, then why did he care whether Eggsy slept or not? Why did he even come to Eggsy’s rescue in the first place?

 

Harry’s hand curls into a fist and he just manages to stop himself from driving it into the doorframe. He finally moves into the room, taking a few steps towards Eggsy before stopping. “It matters,” he bites out and the truth doesn’t feel good like he thought it would because it’s only making things more complicated. And maybe, just maybe, he can let him walk out that door in the morning, but not if he knows it’s a death sentence.

 

“Right,” Eggsy says with an eyeroll. He turns around and starts roaming the room, looking at everything. He uncovers the bar and whistles low. “How expensive is this?” He picks up the 1815 Napoleonic Whiskey and opens the crystal decanter. He takes a sniff of the amber liquor. “Oi, this still good?”

 

He could really use a drink.

 

Whatever is left of Harry’s patience dissipates. He strides over to him, wrapping his hand around the decanter and pulling it away from Eggsy. “That’s enough,” he says harshly. “I brought you here so I wouldn’t have to watch you get torn to pieces and I’ll be damned if I let it happen to you tomorrow. Now go the fuck to sleep.”

 

“And I said y’ can fuck off. Y’ don’t get to tell me wot to do,” Eggsy says. “I’ve been doing just fine since y’ left. I’ll go to sleep when I’m good and ready, and right now I’m not ready. Right now I’m going to get drunk.”

 

He snatches the bottle back and dances away from Harry, out of reach. He flicks him off as he moves around the table, his other hand wrapped securely around the neck of the decanter. He takes a swig and it hits the back of his throat like a fireball. He lowers the bottle with a cough and hisses, “Shit.”

 

A flare of anger rips through Harry, some voice inside him saying that that isn’t  _ for _ him, but what’s the use in trying to uphold the normal traditions anymore? He follows after him on the opposite side of the table, eyes narrowing. “Eggsy,” he says, “please.” He can’t think of anything that will persuade him, no magic words he can say to make Eggsy take care of himself. He’d already tried that, but he’d ripped it away from him.

 

Eggsy won’t be placated. He won’t be swayed by tender eyes and soft words. He’d let Harry lull him into a false sense of security once before and look where it left him.

 

“No,” Eggsy repeats firmly, his grip on the decanter tightening until the cut glass bites into his hand. “Now fucking piss off already.”

 

He takes another defiant pull of the drink. He’s going to walk away. He’s going to move to a different room, put as much distance between himself and Harry as possible, when it strikes him that he’s running. He’s always running. Always hiding. Always trying to escape something stronger, faster, bigger.

 

It’s always him against the world.

 

Eggsy spins around on his heels and a fire born from over a decade of abuse burns in his eyes. “Y’ don’t get to get away with this.” He slams the decanter on the table. “Wot y’ did, wot y’ said, it was lower than anything Dean ever could. Worse than wot those men who fucking  _ raped me _ ever could. They never tricked me, never made me believe I was more than human garbage. Do y’ even understand wot y’ did, wot y’ took from me? Do y’ even care?”

 

Harry stands staring at him with burning eyes. He’d never intended for anything like this to happen, but as he stands there with what he’d said to Eggsy replaying through his mind, he knows he has to fix it. Sighing, he passes a hand over his face, looking away. His gaze bores into one of the founders’ portraits, the painting glaring impassively back. 

 

“I have no intention of ‘getting away’ with anything, as you put it,” Harry starts, forcing the words out. “You don’t have to...  _ shouldn’t _ forgive me. But getting pissed up here instead of taking care of yourself isn’t the answer.” He’s practically growling by the end of it, still steadfastly refusing to look back at him. 

 

“Y’ can’t even look at me y’ coward,” Eggsy snaps. It takes all his strength not to hurl the decanter across the room. “Maybe, maybe getting pissed isn’t the smartest, but y’ know wot? I  _ don’t  _ care. Because it’s either that or going downstairs and being forced to relive one of the worst moments of my life.”

 

He didn’t want to think about that night. He didn’t want to close his eyes and remember the way Harry looked at him. He didn’t want to think about even now how much he wanted Harry, how his heart still raced at the sight of him.

 

“Why?” Eggsy demanded. “Why did y’ do it? Why did y’ make me believe and then snatch it away? Do y’ do that to everyone y’ meet? Are we just toys for y’ to play with?”

 

In a way, Harry supposes, Eggsy has pretty well summed it up. Kingsman had had a habit of manipulating people’s lives, sometimes ruining them, for the sake of the greater good. It was rare for Harry to see a target as a person instead of a pawn; he couldn’t afford to consider their humanity if he wanted to be an effective agent. 

 

This, however, isn’t a mission. Eggsy isn’t a target. He’s a living, breathing person forcing Harry to see him as such, forcing him to account for what he’s said, what he’s done. It’s a bitter pill to swallow.

 

Harry does turn to look at him then, locking eyes with Eggsy even though they’re filled with accusation. “I needed to push you away. I had to find the most effective way to do that.” He pauses, grimacing. “What I said served its purpose.”

 

“Wot y’ said served its…” Eggsy throws the decanter. He has perfect aim. He can hit a running target with his crossbow six meters away. So when the bottle shatters less than a meter from Harry’s head, it’s only because Eggsy didn’t want it to hit him. 

 

Harry flinches reflexively, whipping around to look at Eggsy wide-eyed. 

 

“That’s fucking  _ bullshite _ ! Wot does that even mean? Why? Why damnit! Why did y’ need to push me away? When we have no one left in this world, why would y’ do that?”

 

Did Harry never want him? Why didn’t he say so? Did Harry feel pressured to feed into Eggsy’s whims? Maybe he saw how pathetic Eggsy was and only wanted to shut him up, but once he did he felt trapped.

 

“I never would have… I never would have forced y’, I--I wouldn’t--” He squeezes his eyes shut to settle himself a moment. When he opens his eyes he meets Harry’s gaze. “Y’ owe me more than that answer. I would have given y’ everything, and y’ tore me apart because y’ needed to push me away? I refuse to believe y’ could be that cruel, that awful. So tell me really why.”

 

“Believe it,” Harry snaps. “I’ve done worse than hurt you.” While that might objectively be true, Harry finds it hard to say with Eggsy standing directly in front of him. Guilt twists his stomach painfully into knots but he clamps his mouth closed. He still has secrets to keep.

 

Eggsy clinches his fists at his side. He wants to hit Harry. He wants to tear into him. He wants to make him hurt as much as Harry has hurt him. But then he thinks about tender kisses and kind eyes and how for a brief moment Harry had made him feel like the only person that existed, the only one that had mattered.

 

“Y’re a coward and a bastard and a terrible fucking person Harry,” Eggsy spits, each word acidic on his tongue. His anger is visceral, a gut wrenching pain low in his belly. “And I wish I had never met y’. I wish I hadn’t fallen for y’.”

 

He wishes so many things.

 

It’s stupid, standing here yelling at each other. Throwing vitriol and tearing into one another. It’s not doing anything. He needs to go somewhere quiet to compartmentalize his emotions and then he can go to sleep. He just needs to get his family to somewhere safe, and then it can all be over.

 

“Just… just leave me alone,” Eggsy says, shoulders slumping. The exhaustion he’d been battling washes over him and he sways briefly. Eggsy gathers himself back up, and with heavy resignation grumbles to himself, “Fucking leave like everyone else.”

 

He turns, and there’s a flash of something almost manic in his eyes. He’s barely being contained. The fibers of his mind are unwinding and he isn’t sure how much longer he’ll be able to keep everything from unspooling.

 

Harry opens his mouth to say something but there isn’t anything there. No defense of his actions, not unless he wants to spill the truth. Closing it, he turns and heads for the doorway. 

 

Something makes him pause and look back at the pitiful figure huddled in on himself. Eggsy could die tomorrow. They all could. And Harry would be sitting here trying to make his way back to Kingsman on his own, letting it happen. All his life he’s been trying to save people and now that there’s someone he actually cares about, he’s practically signing his death warrant. 

 

“You’re right,” Harry says quietly, reluctantly breaking the silence that has settled over them. “I am a coward. I wanted to push you away because I couldn’t face telling you what I’d done.”

 

Eggsy turns around and looks at Harry. The fight is gone. He’s just exhausted. He’s spent too much energy trying to stay alive. Too much being angry.

 

“And was it worth it?” Eggsy asks hollowly. “Is the secret really worth it?”

 

Harry smiles wryly, eyes flat. “I might as well tell you, seeing as you already have a poor opinion of me.” And that’s probably putting it lightly. “I started this. All of this. Those… things out there only exist because of me.” 

 

That gives Eggsy a pause. “Wot?” How was that even possible? “H… how? Harry, how could y’ have done this?”

 

Did Eggsy actually hit Harry in the head with the decanter?

 

“No one started this,” Eggsy says with a shake of his head. “This just… it just happened. No one knows how.”

 

No sooner does he ask it than the pieces click, a red thread connecting all the events, all the clues that Harry had scattered about like a breadcrumb trail. Finding Harry. His fighting skills. His evasive answers. The warehouse.

 

“I failed to stop the man who released the virus in the first place,” Harry says. Just like that it becomes real. He’s thought about it before, of course he has, but saying it out loud sounds so much worse. “This is my fault. It’s my mistake, and I have to fix it, and you’ll just… you’ll just get in the way.”

 

Eggsy laughs. He doesn’t know why, but he does. It’s like one big, cosmic joke. He bends at the waist, holding his stomach, and laughs until there are tears in his eyes. He laughs until he can’t breathe. And he keeps laughing, because if he stops, he’s pretty sure he’ll break down crying.

 

That wasn’t at all what Harry was expecting and his head whips up. “Am I missing something here?” he asks, voice flat and humorless. 

 

“Fuck,” Eggsy gasps between breaths. “Fuck, are y’... wot… are y’ some kind of fucking spy?”

 

Of fucking course. What else would Harry be?

 

Harry doesn’t say yes, but he doesn’t say no either. No point now. He’s done with lying, at least to Eggsy. He has a way of pulling the truth out of him without even trying.

 

Eggsy wipes tears from his eyes and glares at Harry. “So that’s it then? That’s why y’ve been the most epic prick in the world? Because y’ can’t deal with the fact that y’ fucked up?”

 

He shakes his head and shoves a finger in Harry’s chest. “No, fuck y’. That’s bullshite, and y’ know it. Y’re scared,” Eggsy accuses. “Y’re scared, and instead of fucking manning up, y’re running, like a fucking coward. Y’ don’t get to pretend like y’ care, like I matter, and then turn around and tell me I’m some kind of fucking mistake. That I’ll get in the way while y’ run off and play hero. Wot kind of bullshite is that?”

 

Before he can think about it, he shoves Harry, hard. “Fuck y’. That’s the most egotistical, pompous, narcissistic thing I’ve ever heard, y’ fucking cunt. Y’ did this? Y’ single handedly sent all of London, and possibly the world, into the apocalypse? No, no I don’t think so. It don’t work that way, and I refuse to believe that y’--pathetic, arsehole y’--has that kind of power.” He shoves Harry again, the frustration, the anger, seeping out with each push. “But y’ know wot I do believe? I believe y’re a big enough self-righteous, selfish toff to think y’ have that ability. Fucking typical. Believing only y’ can impact the world like that. As if no one else could have done something.”

 

Harry stumbles back a step, frustration simmering to the surface. He hadn’t confessed the one thing that had been eating at him for months to be insulted to his face, especially not by someone who doesn’t know anything about it. “It was  _ my _ mission. I was supposed to stop him.” He reclaims the ground he’d lost, glaring down at Eggsy. “Who else, exactly, do you think could have done something? Were you sitting in your flat, perfectly aware of what Valentine was doing and just waiting for the world to end? Or were you sitting there in ignorance, not even knowing that all this was coming?”

 

No. No, Harry doesn’t get to act like he’s the victim. Not after all the shite he’d put Eggsy through. “It may have been y’r fucking mission, but that still doesn’t make it y’r fault. Y’ ain’t the one that made the virus. Y’ ain’t the one that released it. So stop playing the fucking martyr and taking it out on the rest of us.”

 

This isn’t fair, to take his own guilt and shame out on Eggsy, but it’s like Harry can’t stop now that he’s started. “I am  _ trying _ to fix what I’ve done, that’s why I dragged us out to that bloody warehouse in the first place. I thought I might find help there but there was nothing. You know that as well as I do. I killed Dean, I sent Rottie and Poodle to their deaths, and I dragged you and your whole family into danger. That isn’t what I’m supposed to do,” he hisses through clenched teeth. Every one of them had been another failure, another example of how spectacularly he could fuck up.

 

“Fucking come off it,” Eggsy snarls back. “Yeah, y’ did kill Dean. And Rottie and Poodle. But y’ didn’t drag us anywhere. I chose to follow you. Do y’ hear me? I chose to. Y’ didn’t force me. I decided to go where y’ went, not because I had to, but because I bloody well wanted to. Because I was stupid enough to fucking fall for y’.”

 

His cheeks burns at the confession, but he can’t take it back.

 

“I wanted to. And fucking help me, I still do. Because even though y’re a fucking arsehole and a selfish prick, I know there’s still good in y’, and I still fucking care.”

 

_ More than I should. _

 

Harry grits his teeth, eyes closing as he tries to round up his thoughts. It’s harder to think straight when Eggsy’s around. “Whatever good there was in me was beaten out a long time ago, Eggsy,” he finally manages to say, opening his eyes. 

 

“That’s the biggest load of bullshite,” Eggsy says. “If that were true, then why did y’ help me? Why did y’ stop Dean? Stop those bandits? Take us with y’?”

 

He shoves Harry again, because at this point all he wants to do is hit him until he realizes how stupid he’s being. “Y’re a good man, y’ just want to act like y’ aren’t because it’s easier than letting people in.”

 

This time Harry catches Eggsy around the wrist, tightening his hold so he can’t push him again. He stares down at their hands for a long moment before finally meeting his gaze again. “You’re right. I can’t let people in. Which is why you and your family are going to leave first thing tomorrow morning and then you’ll never have to deal with me, or my bullshite, again.”

 

It would be easy to walk away. Eggsy should. Harry isn’t good for him. Harry is self-centered and manipulative and cruel. But he’s also gentle, and kind, and he cares more deeply than Eggsy has ever known. And for all the reasons that Eggsy knows he should walk away, there is only one for why he should stay, and it burns brighter than the sun.

 

“No,” Eggsy says. It isn’t defiantly. It isn’t petulantly. It isn’t with venom or anger or even hurt. It’s with ringing clarity and resolve. “No, I won’t. This isn’t y’r call. It’s mine. And I’m staying, right here. I’m not letting y’ shoulder all of this. I’m not letting y’ destroy wot goodness I know is in y’.”

 

Harry’s brow furrows. Eggsy hadn’t wanted to be here in the first place; all he’d talked about since Harry found him again was leaving and now he’s refusing to go? 

 

He doesn’t pull his wrists free of Harry’s grip. He takes a step closer, until their bodies are nearly pressed together. Eggsy searches Harry’s face. He doesn’t know what for--maybe a sign that he’s getting through, that Harry is finally listening.

 

“Y’ don’t have to do this alone. It doesn’t have to be y’r burden. We can share it.” He bites his bottom lip. “I won’t let y’r stupidity ruin wot we can fucking have.”

 

He hesitates, a fraction of a second, waiting to see if Harry shoves him away. The tightness in his chest is nearly crippling. Harry will either finally destroy him or save him, and he honestly doesn’t know what will happen, but he can’t back down now.

 

Harry stands frozen in indecision. He wants him to stay. He needs him to leave. But Eggsy is right; this can’t be all his decision. He didn’t give Eggsy a choice the first time and he owes him one now. 

 

Eggsy closes the distance between them, kissing Harry. It isn’t like all the times before. It isn’t hard or aggressive or even passionate. It’s gentle and delicate, a press of lips, a silent plea to let him in.

 

Just like that, Harry’s resolve crumbles. He’s been on his own for so long, even before the world had fallen to pieces. He’d had Kingsman, he’d had Merlin, and for a while that had been enough. He’d made it be enough. But now he knows it isn’t. He’s had a taste of what it could be like, that night in the church, and the day after, when Eggsy had followed him into the warehouse without knowing anything more than that Harry was in there. 

 

He pulls away from the kiss before it can turn into something deeper, eyes closed. Forcing himself to open them, he meets Eggsy’s eyes, as earnest and open as ever. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice rasping through his throat. “For all those things I said. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

 

For a second Eggsy is sure Harry is rejecting him again, pushing him away for a final time, and a sob escapes before Eggsy can stop it. He won’t survive if Harry turns on him again.

 

But then he’s apologizing, and Eggsy looks at him,  _ really  _ looks at him. He cups Harry’s cheek, running his thumb across his bottom lip. They’re idiots, the both of them. Stupid, wonderful idiots.

 

“Y’re right,” Eggsy whispers.

 

He didn’t deserve it. He deserves so much more. But he also knows what it means to be consumed by self-doubt, to lash out like a wounded animal when you think the world is going to tear into you. When his only defense is an offense. Eggsy wouldn’t have ever said the things Harry did, wouldn’t have broken down someone, but he’s also done things he’s regretted. Mistakes that hurt people in different ways.

 

He kisses Harry again, the faintest brush of their lips, and says, “But I’m sure y’ll find a way to make it up to me.”

 

Harry lets out a deep, shuddering breath, a hint of laughter in it. “How many chances are you going to give me?” he asks, winding his arms around his back and tugging him in just a bit closer.

 

“As many as it takes for y’ to realize we’re supposed to be together, y’ berk,” Eggsy whispers, never moving his mouth from Harry’s. 

 

Harry shakes his head slightly. “I’m not a very strong believer in fate. But I do believe that you’re stubborn enough to keep trying,” he says. Then he kisses him, long and slow, giving in to the supposed inevitable.

 

“I’ll take it,” Eggsy murmurs between each kiss. He loops his arms around Harry’s neck, pressing his body close. A sharp flare of pain makes him pull away with a hiss. “Fuck, damn cut,” Eggsy grumbles, lifting his stained shirt to inspect the wound.

 

He really needs new clothes.

 

And a bath.

 

And a good dicking.

 

But first things first.

 

Harry drops his arms, bending down slightly to look at it. Michelle had done a thorough enough job bandaging it up, but he doesn’t know how long Eggsy has been wounded. “Are you alright?” he asks, concern thick in his voice.

 

“Yeah,” Eggsy assures. “It’s just sore.”

 

The bandage has some bleed through, but it isn’t enough to warrant changing it. In the morning he’ll re-doctor it.

 

“Y’ think they’ll mind if I take a shirt? I don’t exactly want to stay in this one,” Eggsy says, gesturing to his blood-stained t-shirt. Older blood stains have deepened to a brown. “I wonder if we can wash up.” 

 

Harry can’t help but smile a bit at that. The apocalypse happens and Eggsy is worrying about taking a shirt from a defunct tailor shop. “I’m afraid there isn’t much here that could count as casual wear,” he warns him, stepping around the table and heading for the door. “It’s all dress shirts and suit jackets, but if you can find something, you’re welcome to it. As for the washing up, there’s a sink in the break room.”

 

Eggsy shrugs. “Probably the only chance I’ll get to having something that nice.”

 

Harry leads him back down to the showroom, sticking to the back walls of the shop. He glances over at the rest of the group, but all of them still seem to be soundly asleep. That, at least, is a relief. He doubts any of them will forgive him as readily as Eggsy has. 

 

He follows Harry to where the clothes are and picks out a shirt that looks like it’ll fit. He was right. It’s way nicer than anything he’s ever owned. It seems a shame to even wear it. The fabric is soft beneath his fingers, and the buttons gleam in the glimpses of moonlight. He sets the shirt aside and removes his own, tossing it in the trash.

 

Once they’re in the break room, away from everyone else, Harry relaxes a little more. He nods his head towards the sink in silent invitation.  

 

Water stopped working shortly after the city fell. It seems silly to test the taps, but Eggsy tries anyways. Harry had told him to use the sink.

 

To his surprise, the water flows. “This place ain’t normal, is it?” It really isn’t a question.

 

Eggsy finds a flannel and uses it to scrub off the grime and muck that’s caked onto his skin. There’s soap on the counter, and he happily uses it. He hesitates only for a minute, before stripping out of his shoes and pants. If he was going to clean, he was going to fucking clean.

 

Harry’s eyebrows twitch up a bit, but as he watches Eggsy clean himself he suddenly becomes aware of the own dirt and grime clinging to his skin. He can’t remember the last time he’s had a proper bath. Was it really the first night he and Eggsy had gone to his old flat? 

 

He joins him at the sink, peeling his shirt off and sloughing water over his arms and chest.

 

It’s too dark to really see anything, but even under the cover of shadows, Eggsy is all too aware of Harry. He doesn’t need light to remember what his body looked like, what it felt like to touch that surprisingly firm chest, how thick the muscles were on his arms, and how solid they felt when wrapped around him.

 

Eggsy strips down to the buff--he’d stopped being embarrassed about his body after the first year of renting himself out--and goes about thoroughly washing himself--or as thoroughly as he can with a sink a piece of flannel. He even tries to wash some of his hair, shoving his head under the sink and using some soap to scrub out the layers of grease.

 

When he straightens, he shakes his head like a dog, scattering droplets. He grins at Harry, cheeks flushed, and skin pinked by his aggressive scrubbing.  

 

Harry rolls his eyes skyward, but he’s trying to suppress a smile. He follows his example, working up a lather and massaging the bubbles into his hair before sticking his head under the faucet and rinsing it out as best he can. He leaves the rest of his clothes in a pile on the floor, using an old washcloth to scrub away weeks of gore and grime. 

 

By the time he finally reaches over to shut the water off, he feels like a new man, loathe to climb back into dirty clothes. But he’s even more averse to sneaking out into the showroom nude just to retrieve a suit. 

 

He pulls Eggsy to him, trailing a line of kisses up his neck. “Would you do me a favor?” he asks, lips brushing against his jaw with each word.

 

Eggsy shudders against Harry, immediately tipping his head to the side to give him better access. His cock stirs with interest between them. He’s very aware of their naked bodies, of the water trailing down their chests.

 

“Keep doing that and I’ll do you a dozen favors,” Eggsy teases.

 

Harry’s breath huffs out in something close to a laugh and he pulls back, dropping a kiss at the corner of Eggsy’s mouth. “Could you go out there and get me one of those suits? My old clothes are filthy.”

 

Eggsy blinks a moment, processing the question. He shoves Harry’s shoulder lightly. “Wanker,” he huffs without any real conviction.

 

Eggsy shakes off the last of the water, then slips out of the room and finds a suit he thinks will fit Harry. He grabs himself some fresh trousers and pants too. Might as well replace the whole damn wardrobe while he’s at it.

 

He returns and tosses Harry the clothes. “So how much these threads cost? Would I need to take a personal loan out for these?”

 

Harry, a little pained by how casually Eggsy treats the primped and pressed fabric, reaches up to catch it, smoothing it out once he does. He dresses himself carefully, feeling a little more like he did before he’d ever woken up in that hospital. He relishes the feeling, but it fades away as soon as he’s done up the last button, everything around him a reminder that that’s not how things are anymore. 

 

“A very small personal loan,” he says, winking over at Eggsy.

 

Eggsy whistles low and changes into the clothes. He’s a little surprised at how well it fits. Definitely different than the trackies he wore before the infection, and a hundred times better than the ratty jeans and t-shirt that he wears now.

 

“This’ll get filthy in no time,” Eggsy says. It’s still nice to wear it though. He twists and turns, feeling the give of the fabric, before he nods. “It’ll do.”

 

Harry runs his eyes over him in admiration. “It might be impractical,” he starts, getting up and walking over to him, “but I do like the way you look dressed up.”

 

Eggsy preens at the words. He wishes things were different, that they’d met in a different time. Maybe then things wouldn’t have been so hard. Eggsy could wear a suit and it wouldn’t get ruined by blood and gore. They could go on a date. They could be happy.

 

He slides his hands up Harry’s chest. “Yeah? Y’ don’t look too bad y’r self.” He mean to say more, but whatever he was going to say, is cut off by a yawn. Now that the anger has subsided and his emotions have dropped, the exhaustion he’d been fighting overwhelms him. 

 

Smirking at the sight of it, Harry trails his fingers down Eggsy’s neck, following the path he’d forged with his lips earlier. “You should sleep,” he says softly, leaning in to give him a gentle kiss.

 

Eggsy closes his eyes and leans into the kiss, chasing after Harry’s lips when he starts to pull away. Part of Eggsy is sure this is a dream, that he’d already gone to bed, and when he wakes Harry will still stare at him balefully. Is it crazy how easily he’s willing to forgive? How much of himself he’s willing to give to Harry?

 

“Y’ too,” Eggsy mumbles, tipping his head back so his throat is stretched tautly. He keeps his eyes closed, allowing himself the simple pleasure of feeling Harry’s fingers along his skin. 

 

“I will,” Harry says, his fingers reaching Eggsy’s jaw. He cups his hand around it briefly, thumb tracing over his bottom lip before his hand falls away. “But not with you and the rest of them. I don’t think your mother is going to be very happy when she finds out you’re not leaving after all.”

 

That gets Eggsy to open his eyes. He mourns the loss of Harry’s touch, but he can’t argue. He nods, biting his bottom lip. “Y’re probably right.” He sighs. “Well, we’ll deal with that tomorrow.” He grabs Harry’s hand and squeezes it. “But y’ go to bed too, okay?”

 

Harry nods, for once completely fine with leaving nobody on guard. The shit sleep he’s gotten the past couple of days is a factor, yes, but he’s completely confident in the security of the shop. Walker or bandit, no one is getting in if he doesn’t want them to. 

 

Eggsy goes, wishing they didn’t have to sleep on separate ends of the room, especially now that they finally seem to have made a breakthrough. But he tucks himself next to his mother, pulling Daisy close. Daisy turns into him, snuggling into his chest. Eggsy looks one last time to Harry, then closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.

 

Harry reclaims his place by the window, peering out of the curtain one last time. 

 

Moonlight reflects off the tide of bodies that have finally engulfed them. Occasionally one of the dead will bump into the glass, but none of them pay the shop or its occupants any attention, moving forward without thinking. 

  
He drops the edge of the curtain and settles in to sleep.


	15. Should I Stay or Should I Go?

Eggsy wakes at first light. Daisy had drifted out of his arms to snuggle against their mother’s back. Eggsy climbs to his feet with a grumble, half-asleep still, and looks blearily around the room. He stumbles to the back, knocking into the counter with a grunt, and finds his way to the bathroom.

 

It doesn’t even register that it might not work while he’s pissing, but just like the sink, the toilet flushes.

 

Eggsy stumbles back into the main room, swaying slightly. He’s dead tired still. Reluctantly, he’d admit he should have gone to bed earlier last night, when Harry first instructed him to. He doesn’t regret not listening, though.

 

At the sound of someone stumbling through the tailor shop, Harry wakes up. He finds himself slumped over in the corner where the window meets the wall, head resting against the curtain. Blinking himself awake, he lifts his head to see Eggsy moving into the hallway. After a few minutes he comes back into the showroom, clearly still exhausted. If he hadn’t already made up his mind not to let him go again, this would have sealed it. 

 

It’s surprisingly quiet outside and when he peers behind the curtain he sees nothing but empty streets. The horde is gone. Finally, he allows himself to really relax, resting his head back against the wood paneling. “You’re up early,” he says, gaze flicking to Eggsy. The sun has barely spilled over the horizon.

 

“Had to piss,” Eggsy murmurs. He blinks to try and clear the sleep from his vision, but it doesn’t do much. He stumbles over to Harry and climbs onto the ledge with him, asking, “How’d y’ sleep?”

 

Harry moves over to make room for him, fighting the urge to wrap his arm around him, pull him into his chest. He’s too aware of the others in the room to risk that. “Better than I have in a long time.” 

 

Eggsy drops his head against the glass, looking ready to drop back off any minute. Ryan or Jamal mumble in their sleep, while the other snores, and there’s a shifting, but no one wakes. 

 

“You need more rest,” Harry points out. “I’m guessing you’ve been sleeping as well as I have lately.” 

 

Mind still fogged with sleep, his inhibitions clouded over, Eggsy answers truthfully. “Keep having nightmares. Being left behind… failing everyone.” He yawns and starts to drop off. “Y’ died, couldn’t save y’.”

 

He starts to doze again, face flat against the glass.

 

Harry watches him for a few moments before getting to his feet. He picks Eggsy up carefully, carrying him bridal-style back over to the little space the group has claimed for themselves. He lays him down near the fringes, not wanting to disturb the rest of them before returning to his own spot near the window. There’s little chance of him getting back to sleep now and he stares contemplatively out the window.

 

Eggsy sleeps another three hours, longer than the others, waking only when Daisy elbows his injury. He groans. “Fuck,” Eggsy breathes, clutching his side.

 

“Sorry, babe,” Michelle says, picking Daisy up. “She got away from me.”

 

“It’s fine,” Eggsy wheezes, sitting up with another wince. He hopes that hasn’t aggravated the wound.

 

“We’ll check that before we leave,” Michelle promises.

 

It takes Eggsy a moment to process what she said. He reflexively looks to Harry in the corner of the room, one hand still cupping his side.

 

Harry looks back at him, still in the same spot. He’d watched the others slowly wake, seen the wary glances they threw his way and ignored them. Now, however, he pushes himself to his feet. He wanders over to the desk in the middle of the room and leans against it. “You don’t have to leave straight away,” he offers. “If you don’t want to.”

 

“No, best we take off,” Michelle decides, as if she’s suddenly taken over as the team’s leader.

 

“Actually, mum,” Eggsy says, drawing her attention back to him. He stands, not wanting to be sitting when he tells her--it feels too much like he’s seven again. “Harry and I talked.”

 

“Oh?” It comes out whipcrack sharp.

 

Eggsy sucks in a breath, bracing himself for the brewing fight. “We’re staying. Like y’ said last night, it makes sense to work together. And Harry is a good fighter. And--”  _ I don’t want to leave him again because I’m mad for this stupid man. _

 

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “No, no he’s just manipulating y’ again. Don’t y’ see? It’s like before, with Dean--he’s…” She turns on Harry, pointing her finger at him, and it’s as if she’s wielding a knife. If glares were capable of killing, her’s would have had Harry hanged, drawn, and quartered. “Y’ did this. Y’ make my boy lose his head. Get him all turned around. Wot did y’ do?”

 

“Mum--” Eggsy tries to cut in.

 

“No, Eggsy. I was fine for the night, because we didn’t have much choice, but I refuse to remain with this… with this… monster!”

 

Her reaction is only what Harry was expecting, but it still makes him wince. He does want Eggsy’s mother to like him, after all, at least a little bit. “It’s safer here than it is out there. I have nothing to do with this equation,” he says, raising his hands up like he’s surrendering.

 

“Nothing to do with this equation? Y’ have  _ everything  _ to do with it. Y’ have ever since y’ showed up,” Michelle spits out. “Everything that has happened since y’ arrived has been because of  _ you. _ ”

 

“Mum--”

 

“No, Eggsy, I won’t stand by and watch it anymore.”

 

“It isn’t up for y’ to decide,” Eggsy says, his tone going hard. “We’re staying. Harry is right, out there is certain death. At least with Harry we have some chance. We can figure out where to go from here.”

 

“And we don’t get a say? Our voice doesn’t matter? What if I don’t want to stay, or Jamal? Or Ryan? Have y’ thought about y’r sister and what it means?”

 

“Yes, I know staying with him is the best option for her,” Eggsy says. “I forgave him, mum, can’t y’?”

 

“No.” It rings through the tailor shop.

 

Harry moves to stand at Eggsy’s shoulder, tracing his fingers down his spine briefly, subtly so Michelle won’t notice. “Eggsy,” he says, a note of warning in the word. 

 

He stares down Michelle, unwilling to back down on this matter. “I’m not asking you to forgive me. I’m asking you to keep yourself and your family safe.” 

 

The small touch helps smooth some of Eggsy’s hackles. Michelle sneers at Harry. “And y’ think y’ can keep our family safe?”

 

“He has so far,” Eggsy counters. “Just…” He looks around. Jamal and Ryan watch, their gazes shifting distrustfully to Harry. “We go out there, it’s just us. And we don’t know what’ll happen or where we’ll go.”

 

“Yeah, but bruv, y’ was the one that didn’t want to follow him,” Jamal points out. “Just the other night y’ were ready to kill him.”

 

“Well that was last night.” Eggsy prickles at the accusation. “We talked after y’ went to bed, and I realized going blindly into the unknown isn’t the best option for survival.”

 

“And  _ he _ is?” Ryan points at Harry. “Wasn’t he the one that led us to that warehouse? Wasn’t he the one that used us just to further himself?”

 

“I did,” Harry admits, because what would be the point in denying what they all know to be true? He’d told them flat-out that he’d used them and he couldn’t explain everything to them as he’d done with Eggsy. “I made a mistake. But I won’t be dragging you off to any more warehouses or following any more potentially dangerous hunches. This is… where you stay.”

 

Jamal and Ryan exchange a look. “This it then?” Jamal asks.

 

“Yeah, this is it,” Eggsy assures.

 

“Y’ serious about this?” Ryan jerks his head at Harry.

 

“Yeah,” Eggsy says..

 

“Fine, we stay,” Jamal says with a huff.

 

“Y-y’ can’t be--” Michelle makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. “This is bonkers, absolutely bonkers.”

 

“Mum, think of Daisy. Please,” Eggsy pleads.

 

Michelle groans, frustration furrowing her brow. She throws her hands in the air and then points at Harry menacingly. “If y’ hurt him, I swear to God I will feed y’ to those walkers.”

 

It was rich coming from her, after all she had let Dean get away with, but Eggsy doesn’t say anything. As long as his mum isn’t running out the door with Daisy, head first into the jaws of death, Eggsy doesn’t care. 

 

Harry nods in understanding. “I have no intention of hurting Eggsy, or any of you, for that matter.”  _ But if I do again _ , he silently adds, looking over at Eggsy,  _ I’ll feed myself to them. _

 

Eggsy’s hand twitches. He manages to resist reaching for Harry’s. Michelle’s vitriolic tirade seems to be over, thankfully; Eggsy isn’t sure he can handle anymore fighting. He’s still so tired. Days--months, honestly--of little sleep have left him dead on his feet.

 

“Then it’s settled, we stay here,” Eggsy clarifies.

 

“Yeah,” Ryan agrees.

 

“So wot, we just going to hide in the tailor shop for the rest of our lives?” Jamal asks. “Or are we still going to try and make it out of the city?” 

 

Harry hesitates. He wants to be able to tell them about the bullet train hidden underneath the shop that could have them speeding out towards the country in seconds, but that would mean revealing everything. He doesn’t think that will help him win any trust, even if they believe him. 

 

He decides to leave it in the hands of fate. “That’s up to all of you. If you want to stay here, then we stay here. We’ll have to leave occasionally, of course, for supplies, but for the most part we won’t have to worry about walkers. And if you decide to leave I… know a place we can go.”

 

Jamal and Ryan don’t answer, and Eggsy isn’t sure. Staying in the city doesn’t seem like the best option, especially when the walkers will only grow in number. But heading out now, when they are so low in supplies, and both he and Harry are dead on their feet, seems like a poor decision.

 

“Let’s stay here,” Eggsy says, “At least for a little while. Regather some supplies. Build our strength back up. And then maybe we continue out of the city, see if the infection hasn’t reached the countryside.”

 

Harry nods, accepting the decision, and silently wondering what he will find when he finally does get to the countryside.  


	16. The Changing Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy learns a little more about Kingsman and shares a private moment with Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little moment between Harry and Eggsy to help us all cope with the terrible news today.

Eggsy makes a few runs out to the nearby buildings. He had suggested going to the police station a few streets down, but the idea got quickly vetoed when it was decided the station would be swarmed. He sticks close to the tailor shop, going out in short spurts.

 

It takes almost a week to regain his strength after days of no sleep. But he finally starts to get rest when he discovers they don’t have to stay up to monitor the doors.

 

The hardest parts are sneaking around in such a confined space. The only time Eggsy can see Harry without the others watching is after everyone has gone to bed. There are moments he still isn’t sure if it’s real, or if Harry would suddenly change his mind, swing back to the other side and claim it was all another ruse.

 

The fear wakes him some nights, when the memories of his past or the walkers don’t. He wakes with a jerk, gasping for air as if someone had been holding him underwater.

 

He dreams about Harry getting torn to pieces, the rest of their party already ripped to shreds, and all Eggsy can do is watch from the distance as everyone he cares for is devoured.

 

Eggsy wakes with a jerk, limbs flailing, his heart painfully palpitating. He clamps a hand over his mouth to smother a broken sob, forcing himself to regulate his breathing. It takes him a few minutes to calm down, to convince himself that the groans outside aren’t inside, that the glistening blood isn’t  _ real _ .

 

When his breathing finally does calm, he drops his hand and looks around. There won’t be anymore sleeping tonight.

 

Eggsy struggles to his feet, glancing to Harry’s spot to see if he’s awake. The others, luckily, are still asleep, undisturbed by Eggsy’s night terror.

 

“Harry?” Eggsy whispers, barely loud enough to even be heard. It doesn’t look like Harry is in his corner. Eggsy lurches forward, then looks around, whispering louder, “Harry?”

 

****

 

Harry means to leave as soon as possible. The longer he waits there, cooped up in the tailor shop with the others, the more the disease spreads, the more survivors die. The sooner he gets back to Kingsman the better. But he’s finding it difficult to bring himself to disappear without explanation. It will give the group another reason to hate him, and he doesn’t even want to think about what it will do to Eggsy.

 

Still, he’s aware there’s a gap between them that’s never going to get better. He still sleeps apart from them, avoids them as much as he can within the small confines of the shop. Whenever there’s a supply run he goes, if only to get away from the tense atmosphere for a little while. 

 

Guilt eats away at him despite Eggsy’s reassurances that this isn’t all his fault. Even if he concedes that he wasn’t the only one involved in starting this, he could be sitting here while Merlin struggles to fix everything alone. He resolves to go. Eggsy will either have to forgive him or move on. 

 

That night, he waits until he’s sure they’re all asleep before moving silently into the first fitting room, closing the door firmly behind him. He turns to face himself in the mirror, shocked at the figure that stares back. He’s so much smaller than he remembers, has never had the chance to gain back what he lost after his coma. New scars pattern his body, the once-fine clothing rumpled and grimy. Grimacing, he forces himself to step forward, pressing his hand against the mirror. 

 

Immediately it lights up, scanning over his handprint and confirming him as Agent Galahad. The room shudders to life, slowly sinking into the earth and he waits patiently as it carries him to the station. When it arrives, he steps onto the tiled platform. Things down here remain unchanged by the chaos above. It’s still gleaming white, the tube waiting with open doors to take him to headquarters. 

 

Harry settles himself into the seat, waiting for the doors to close and the tube to whisk him off but nothing happens. Brow furrowing, he presses the emergency button for a manual launch. Still nothing. Of all the things to break. 

 

He stands despondently. How is he supposed to make it all the way to the countryside on his own? Even if he takes the group with him, which they’re unlikely to agree to, they can’t all possibly survive, not through miles of walker-infested land. He trails listlessly back to the fitting room floor, the lift starting to rise again as soon as he steps onto it, at a complete loss for what to do. It settles back into its original place with a soft click and he opens the door, mind still racing for a solution.

 

Eggsy turns as Harry opens the door, eyes wide with panic. It takes him a second to realize it’s Harry and not a walker. Eggsy swallows thickly and says, “Fuck, I…” He shakes his head. It doesn’t matter. “Nevermind. Wot were y’ doing in there?”

 

Harry just blinks at Eggsy, taking a second to process his unexpected arrival. 

 

Eggsy had explored most of the tailor shop in their short time there. There wasn’t much else to do. The room is just a changing room, nothing of interest. Of course, Eggsy realizes, this place has running water when it shouldn’t, and sturdy glass that doesn’t break under the relentless hands of walkers. So maybe the changing room isn’t just a changing room.

 

Harry is a spy, even if he won’t admit it. The tendrils of panic that lingered finally evaporate, and Eggsy hurries over to the room, nudging past Harry so he can look in and investigate. His shoulders slump when he sees that it still is just a changing room.

 

Harry lets out a soft laugh at his eagerness. “I wasn’t doing anything, Eggsy,” he says, smile slowly fading away as he turns back around to face the mirror. “I was just looking.” 

 

“So no secret spy stuff?” Eggsy asks, a little disappointed. He pokes and prods at a few things, seeing if they trigger a sudden safe full of guns or a cache of knives. He makes his way around, coming to a stop to at the mirror. He hisses. “Yikes, that’s not a pretty sight.”

 

There are circles under his eyes and a fading bruise from his last supply run. Eggsy leans forward and inspects the damage to his face. The nice thing is that he can keep washing his hair with the running water, so his sandy locks are soft, falling around his face in untamed tangles. A slight curl has started as his hair grows.

 

One corner of Harry’s mouth lifts in a smile and he moves to stand behind Eggsy, meeting his eyes through the reflection. “You think so? I was thinking the exact opposite.”

 

Eggsy blinks in surprise and meets Harry’s eyes through the glass. A flush spreads across his cheeks, before fading as he smiles flirtatiously and gives Harry a saucy wink through the reflection. “Yeah?” Eggsy asks. “What do you see then?”

 

Harry’s eyes narrow briefly. He studies Eggsy’s reflection, one hand resting on his chin as if he’s thinking deeply. The longer he stares, the more his face falls, the teasing gleam in his eyes dying. “A young man who should have had his whole life ahead of him,” he finally sighs.

 

What should have been light hearted, suddenly takes a dip, and Eggsy blinks when he realizes the weight boring down on Harry. He turns, forgetting his own reflection, and takes Harry’s face in his hands. “Hey,” Eggsy whispers, “none of that.”

 

Harry leans into his touch, eyes half-closing. They have to tiptoe around Michelle and the rest of them so often that he inadvertently glances towards the door, half-expecting someone to come through and catch them, but it stays closed.

 

Eggsy strokes his thumb along Harry’s cheek, smiling gently--encouragingly--as he watches Harry. There are wrinkles around his eyes that hadn’t been there when they first met, and grays in his hair that twinkle in the light. None of them are coming out of this unscathed.

 

“I still have my life ahead of me, and while it isn’t what I expected, I can honestly say it’s better than what it was.”

 

He isn’t lying, either. The sad truth is, this new world, one shaped by violence and desperation, is kinder to him than the old. At least here he has a fighting chance, at least here he has found someone to care for him. In the other world, he would have been broken and raped, until there was nothing left of himself to give.

 

“I know y’ don’t believe me,” Eggsy whispers, “But I don’t blame y’ for any of this. I never will.”

 

Sighing, Harry reaches up, folding his fingers around Eggsy’s wrists and gently pulling them away from his face. “I believe you,” he says after a slight pause. “Even if I don’t agree with you, I believe you.” He looks into his eyes, smile creeping back. “You’re too forgiving for your own good.”

 

Eggsy chuckles and stands on his toes so he can reach Harry’s lips. “Is that such a bad thing?” Eggsy mumbles against his mouth. Eggsy kisses him, tracing Harry’s bottom lip with his tongue, teasing his mouth open so he can get a better taste.

 

Harry leans into the kiss so Eggsy can stand flat-footed, one hand settling in the small of his back. His lips part, allowing Eggsy in and he moans slightly, pulling him closer. He doesn’t break away until he has to breathe, resting his forehead against Eggsy’s. “It’s not,” he says in between breaths, “a bad thing. It’s worked out well in my favor.”

 

Eggsy muffles a laugh with another kiss and nips teasingly at Harry’s lip. “We’re all alone,” Eggsy points out when he pulls back. He waggles his eyebrows. “Everyone is sound asleep.”

 

Hunger grows in the pit of his stomach, burning embers that were stoked with each kiss and press of their bodies. He threads his fingers through Harry’s hair, tugging his head back to expose his throat. Eggsy presses kisses to the underside of his chin and then scrapes his teeth along the length of his throat.

 

Harry shudders at the feeling, clamping down on any noises that want to escape. The others will only stay sound asleep if they’re careful. The fitting rooms might double as lifts, but they aren’t soundproof. 

 

“Never done it in front of a mirror,” Eggsy adds, sealing his lips over Harry’s pulse.

 

Harry’s free hand lands on the back of Eggsy’s neck, fingers brushing over the short, soft hair at the nape. He lets out a breathless laugh. “It can be quite… exhilarating.” As he speaks, he pulls away from Eggsy just enough to spin him around, draw him against him, back to chest. His mouth traces the shell of his ear and he tips his head towards the mirror, his own eyes drilling into their reflection. “See?” he breathes.

 

Eggsy shudders at the intensity of Harry’s gaze. His cock presses almost painfully against his trousers. Eggsy tilts his head to the side, a moan teasing his lips, and whispers, “I can… nngh, definitely see the appeal of it.”

 

This time Harry’s smile is more genuine and he presses it against Eggsy’s neck, just beneath his jaw. Soon enough his mouth is replaced with his hand, curling loosely around Eggsy’s throat. The other travels slowly down his chest, fingertips snagging on the fabric of his shirt. It stops just above the waistband of his trousers, thumb dipping down teasingly.

 

Eggsy arches into the touch, his breathing growing short. With everything so limited, with days short, and growing shorter, there isn’t much time for anything other than passing smiles. Eggsy bites his bottom lip to hold back a small whine. “Harry,” Eggsy pleads, reaching back to tangle his hand in Harry’s hair. “Y’ going to make me beg for it?” 

 

“I  _ have _ been wondering what that would sound like,” Harry whispers with a positively wicked smirk. He dips his thumb down again, brushing the elastic of Eggsy’s pants but stopping there.

 

Eggsy closes his eyes, trying to tip his hips up further into Harry’s touch. Somehow, even with everything else spiraling around them, Harry knows how to play his body, as if he were a fine-tuned instrument. Eggsy licks his lips and opens his eyes, meeting Harry’s stare through the glass.

 

If Harry wants to hear him plead, than Eggsy will give him the best damn show of his life. Eggsy slips on a sultry pout, the one he knows makes knees weak, where his soft bottom lip juts out, and there’s a glimpse of tongue, and he pairs it with heavy-lidded eyes.

 

“Please, Harry,” Eggsy begs, voice lilting in a needy whine. “Been dreaming about y’ for days. Miss y’r cock. I’ve been gagging for it, need it. I’ll be good.”

 

He grinds back, letting Harry know just what possibilities could happen.

 

It takes all of Harry’s self control to keep Eggsy where he is instead of pushing him down on his knees then and there. Instead he slides his hand down a few inches more, palming his cock. He’d imagined Eggsy saying things like that before, but hearing it in reality is better than he’d hoped for.

 

Even having had Harry’s hand on his cock before, it still leaves Eggsy weak. Harry is the sun, and being so close leaves Eggsy burning. He pants, rocking forward into Harry’s palm, and back into his thickening cock. “Harry, please. Don’t y’ want me?” He purposely shoots Harry a doe-eyed look, toying with his bottom lip. He’d gotten the innocent school boy look down by age fifteen. “I want to suck y’r cock, want to taste it. Bet y’ taste so good. Bet it’ll feel so good on my tongue.” He moans softly, a breathy keen. “So big in my mouth.” 

 

Harry stifles a moan in the bend of Eggsy’s neck, a hint of teeth scraping over his soft skin. He goes from palming him to stroking him, doesn’t move his mouth from where it is.

 

This time he really pleads, a broken whine escaping him as he humps into Harry’s hand. “Fuck, Harry. I need it. Fuck, I need it. Need y’.”

 

He’s diamond hard and leaking, a tremor racing through his body and leaving his bones rubbery. Eggsy turns his head into Harry and moans, “Want y’ to fuck my mouth. Make me y’rs.”

 

Harry pauses, pulling away far enough to look down into Eggsy’s face. Then he nods, unwrapping his hand and letting go of his throat, taking a small step back. “On your knees, then.”

 

The order goes straight to Eggsy’s cock. He slides to his knees in a fluid movement, turning to face Harry. He looks up at him, mouth parted, eyes wide and needy. He can feel the heat on his face, and there’s an eagerness to him, a desperation to have and to please. Eggsy doesn’t reach for Harry, he waits. 

 

Harry reaches down to tilt Eggsy’s chin up, thumb running across his bottom lip. It lingers there for a second before falling away. He undoes his trousers, tugging them down to puddle on the floor, his pants following straight after. His hand cups the back of his head, slowly guiding him forwards.

 

Eggsy opens his mouth wide, letting his tongue slide out and flattening it so when he takes the head of Harry’s cock, his tongue runs along the underside. He hums pleasantly, leaning forward to take more in, guarding his teeth with his lips so it’s a smooth glide. Eggsy relaxes his throat, focusing his breathing through his nose. There’s a stretch to his mouth, a pleasant burn as he swallows Harry’s girth.

 

Eggsy moans, rolling his eyes up so he’s holding Harry’s gaze as he swallows him down. It’s as if his throat is bottomless, taking him deeper until Eggsy’s nose presses into the bed of musky curls.

 

“Fuck.” The word is choked and ragged, Harry’s head tipping forwards and his eyes closing automatically. He threads his fingers into Eggsy’s hair, tightening his grip until it’s a light pull. He sways a bit, unintentionally rocking his hips forward.

 

Harry pushes even deeper when he rocks forward, but Eggsy takes it, savoring every inch. He starts a steady rhythm of sucking and bobbing, using his tongue to massage the veins that lattice the underside of his cock and the gland beneath the head. He draws back to the tip and suckles, tonguing the slit at the tip.

 

“Fuck, so good,” Eggsy mumbles, smearing precum on his lips. He kitten licks Harry’s tip.

 

Harry realizes that if he keeps hold of Eggsy’s hair like this he’s going to end up tearing it out by the roots. He cards his fingers through his blond locks instead, tries to give himself something else to focus on other than the wet heat of his mouth, the slick of his tongue. A groan wracks through him as Eggsy licks at his slit and he rocks forward again.

 

Eggsy whimpers when Harry stops tugging at his hair. He nuzzles Harry’s shaft, kissing along the heavy length until he reaches the root. He wraps his hand around Harry and gives a few long tugs. “Come on Harry, didn’t ask y’ to be gentle. Want y’ to fuck my mouth.”

 

Harry blinks down at him, the words taking a few seconds to filter through his blissful haze. “Right,” he says, fingers re-tangling themselves in his hair. “Right,” he repeats in a whisper, letting his eyes slide closed.

 

His nerves light up and every stroke of Eggsy’s hand sends another surge of pleasure crashing through him.

 

Eggsy relaxes his throat and takes Harry into his mouth once again, swallowing him to the root. He grabs onto Harry’s hip and squeezes, signaling for him to go. The pressure of Harry pressing against his tongue is grounding, giving Eggsy something to focus on other than the threats looming outside. For a moment he can be a collection of atoms, a cluster of stars, vibrating with heat and life.

 

Harry exhales as Eggsy puts his mouth back on him, fingernails scraping bluntly across his scalp, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough that he’ll feel it. He pulls back slowly, stopping when only the head of his cock is still in his mouth. His fingers flex, the only warning he gives before sliding back in.

 

Each slide of Harry’s cock sends a shiver down Eggsy’s spine. He unzips his trousers and fishes himself out. He starts to stroke himself in tandem with Harry’s thrusts. It’s easy to lose himself in the movements, and soon his entire being narrows to the single drag and push of Harry’s cock.

 

The faster Harry goes, the harder it is to breathe, but Eggsy doesn’t say anything, savors each slam of Harry’s hips. He sucks on the withdraw, making it so each moment is a sensuous squeeze around Harry’s shaft. A moan rumbles through his throat. He squeezes the base of his cock, precum dribbling from his tip.

 

“Eggsy, Eggsy,” Harry repeats again and again, clutching to him as if he’s a lifeline. He’s getting close, he can feel it. He quickens his pace, chasing his orgasm. “I’m… I’m going to…” he pants, trying to pull back, get himself out of Eggsy’s mouth before he does.

 

Eggsy forgets himself and grabs onto Harry’s arse with both hands; he wants all of it. Eggsy hums in consent and sucks Harry through his orgasm, throat constricting with each gulp.

 

For a minute, there is nothing but the sensation of Eggsy swallowing him down, pleasure crackling throughout his body like a lightning strike. He comes down panting, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and finally steps away from Eggsy. “Christ,” he says. He can’t even remember the last time he’s come that hard and he suddenly feels the overwhelming urge to return the favor. 

 

He lowers himself to Eggsy’s level, leaning forward to mouth at his neck. “What do you need?”

 

Belatedly, he realizes, Harry could have just been taking. Could have been only trying to get what he can while Eggsy is there.  The thought leaves him, though, as he drinks the last bit of Harry’s cum with a greedy moan. When Harry drops down to him to press kisses against his neck, he whimpers and crawls into his lap, humping against him like a needy whore. “I’ll take wotever y’ll give,” Eggsy whines.

 

He never wants this to end. He never wants to stop feeling this way--precious, cherished. Like he means something.

 

Harry hooks his arm around Eggsy’s back, pressing him close. Then he’s leaning forwards, not stopping until Eggsy is splayed out on the floor underneath him, Harry’s mouth fixed over his pulse. His hands smooth down his sides, fingers tracing over the curve of his ribs, pausing only when they reach the hem of his shirt. 

 

He presses a kiss in the hollow of Eggsy’s throat before slinking down his body until he reaches his cock. His tongue flicks out and he licks a stripe all the way up, eyes never once leaving Eggsy’s face.

 

Eggsy has to bite his fist to muffle his sob. He arches into Harry’s touch, his heart vibrating. He’s pretty sure it’ll combust soon.

 

“Oh fuck,” Eggsy gasps brokenly, tangling his other hand in Harry’s curls. He won’t last long, he’s already so close. His throat hurts from the raw fucking, but it’s a pleasant pain that’s sunken deep into Eggsy and left him humming with pleasure.

 

“Please,” Eggsy begs, though for what he isn’t sure. It’s a delirious murmur, practically a benediction as he shoves his shoulders back and moves further into Harry’s touch. Harry could kill him at that moment and he wouldn’t do anything. He’d give himself willingly to Harry, if it meant just having those lips on him for a little longer.

 

Harry licks him again, tongue swirling expertly around the head of his cock, swiping up the precum. He closes his mouth over the tip, wrapping his hand around the rest of it, stroking him hard and fast.

 

Eggsy can’t do anything other than melt around Harry, making little wrecked sounds. He tries to warn Harry how close he is, but it comes out strained, so he tugs on Harry’s hair instead. His stomach tightens, and for a brief second all he sees is blinding white, and then a shuddering orgasm tears through him.

 

Just like Eggsy, Harry refuses to pull away. He strokes him through his climax, pace turning slow and steady, the taste of him flooding his tongue. He waits until he’s sure it’s over before sitting back, giving Eggsy a breathless smile.

 

Eggsy lies there, panting heavily, his wet cock clinging to his thigh. When he’s sure his heart isn’t going to burst from his chest, Eggsy shifts into a sitting position. He crawls into Harry’s lap, not bothering to fix his pants, and kisses him. He can taste himself on Harry’s tongue, but he doesn’t care. All he wants his to wrap himself around Harry and bask in the post-coital glow.

 

Harry sighs into it, welcoming him onto his lap. But he breaks away before long, needing to breathe. “Are you alright?” he asks, fingers tracing the line of his hips, curving up to run along the bottom of his ribs.

 

“Fuck yeah,” Eggsy mumbles, voice still husky from his raw vocal chords. He nips at Harry’s chin. “Never been fucking better, bruv.”

 

He really wishes they could go to bed together, that he could cuddle with Harry. It would help keep the nightmares at bay. And if he is being honest, he is feeling a tad clingy, especially after such a phenomenal blow job, and all he wants is to burrow up against Harry.

 

“Wot about y’?” Eggsy asks, shifting so he can press his forehead to Harry’s. He looks up at him, searching his face for any signs of regret or indecision. Eggsy forgave Harry, but that doesn’t mean there still isn’t that underlying fear that his entire world will be flipped upside down again. Harry is a perfect storm, and Eggsy knows eventually he will die for this man.

 

“Mmm,” Harry hums, nodding. He doesn’t want to let Eggsy go, but he knows any moment now they’re going to have to go back out to the rest of them, to their separate corners. “I’m fine.”

 

Eggsy kisses him again, keeps kissing him, knowing that as soon as he stops they’ll return to the real world. He sighs against Harry’s lips. “We should get some rest,” Eggsy murmurs, though he makes no move to get dressed. He nuzzles Harry’s cheek. “I’ve got another supply run tomorrow.”

 

They’d slowly rebuilt their cache of food and medicine, though they were scraping the barrel. Eggsy knows they won’t be able stay here forever, and as the days pass, he can see their time at the tailor shop coming to an end.

 

“Mmm,” Harry hums again and he makes no move to let him go. 

 

He’s tired. A wearying, bone-deep tiredness of knowing their options are gone. The bullet train isn’t working and he doesn’t know how to fix it and they’re just sitting here in this tailor shop trying to eke out a survival. “There’s a place,” he finds himself saying, forehead still resting against Eggsy’s. “My headquarters. I have to get there. I want you to come with me.” 

 

Eggsy blinks at the confession, silently absorbing what Harry said. He doesn’t have to think about it. “Yes,” Eggsy whispers. Eggsy cups Harry’s cheek and kisses him again, and again, and again. Small brushes of his lips. “Wherever y’ go, I follow.”

 

Harry eventually, reluctantly pulls away, a hand against Eggsy’s chest to keep him from leaning in for another kiss. “And the others? It’s not nearby, Eggsy, I don’t know if we can all make it there in one piece.” 

 

Eggsy does go for another kiss--he can’t help it, Harry is just so damn kissable--but pauses. He knows the risks. He knows the possibilities of what could happen to them.

 

“I’ll get us there,” Eggsy says, as if it’s his burden. But that’s what he’s been doing. Pushing them through. Seeing that no one is left behind. And he won’t stop. He won’t quit on anyone. “They’ll follow. They have nowhere else to go. And wotever happens, we deal with it. But… but I won’t leave anyone. I can’t.”

 

Harry nods. He’d been expecting nothing less. He sucks in a deep breath, looking Eggsy right in the eyes and, before he can give himself a chance to stop, says, “Then I think we should tell your mother.”

 

“Tell her?” Eggsy blinks, slowly. “About… me and y’?”

 

Harry nods. If they’re going to be traveling all that way together, he won’t be able to stand looking at Eggsy and not being able to touch him, talk to him. He needs Michelle to know. 

 

Eggsy wants to. But suddenly saying it, suddenly being ready to do it, makes him pause. She’ll be livid. He can already hear her going bonkers.

 

But.

 

But they need to. They can’t keep sneaking around. And Eggsy won’t risk any lives because of it. He nods. “Okay, in the morning. But we need to tell them everything, Harry. Including where we’re going.”

 

Harry shifts uncomfortably at that. “Eggsy… I shouldn’t have even told you,” he protests, even though he knows it’s weak. The last time they’d blindly followed him somewhere he’d turned their trust around on them; no way are they going to do it a second time. Still, keeping Kingsman a secret is an instinct that’s been ingrained in him for decades. It won’t be an easy habit to break.

 

“Y’ can’t ask them to follow blindly,” Eggsy says. “It ain’t right. They deserve to know what they’re signing up for. Jamal and Ryan won’t say nufin. They’re like me, they’ve never grassed on anyone.”

 

He cups Harry’s face, running his thumb along his cheek. “Please.”

 

Harry’s eyes drift closed, soothed by his touch. After a moment he lets out a long sigh, meeting his gaze again. “Fine. We tell them everything,” he agrees.

 

Eggsy kisses him, putting all of his gratitude into the embrace. When he pulls back, he whispers, “Thank you.” 

 

Smiling softly, Harry just shakes his head. “Nothing to thank me for.” 

 

He glances towards the fitting room door, fingers absentmindedly trailing down Eggsy’s arm. “I don’t want to go back out there just yet,” he admits, looking back at Eggsy. “Stay with me?” It comes out as more of a question than a request.

 

Eggsy smiles and hums in assent. He finds some fabric left in the room and uses it to clean them up, and then tucks himself away. Eggsy stretches out on the floor and tugs at Harry’s arm, ordering gently, “Come here, lie with me. We’ll get up in a little bit, everyone is sound asleep.”

 

They deserve this, this moment of absolute solitude. They won’t get it again for a very long time.

 

Harry complies, moving to stretch out behind him, wrapping one arm around his waist. He presses his forehead against the back of Eggsy’s head, eyes closing again. This is nice, this opportunity to hold him, wrapped up for a moment in a world that only belongs to them. He hardly even notices when he starts drifting off. 

 

Eggsy stays awake for a little while longer, knowing he should wake Harry, that they can’t sleep here. But he’s selfish. Having his arms around him, feeling his heart, his breath, knowing that he’s alive and there with him, is a small reprieve from the nightmare of the outside. He stays, telling himself over and over that he’ll wake Harry in a minute, just one more minute.

  
But soon his eyes grow heavy, and he drifts off to sleep to the sound of Harry’s even breaths.


	17. Out in the Open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything finally comes out into the open.

Michelle wakes first. She notices immediately that there’s an absence beside her, a lack of warmth and weight that usually is tucked at her back. Michelle climbs to her feet, making sure not to jostle Daisy, who’s tucked herself between Michelle and Jamal, and looks around for Eggsy.

 

“Eggsy? Luv?” She glances at the window, her heart rate spiking as soon as she realizes Harry isn’t in his normal spot.

 

Michelle isn’t blind. She sees how the two dance around each other. Eggsy, bless his heart, is always so quick to forgive, to see the best in people. But Michelle isn’t a fool; Harry is going to lead them to certain doom.

 

She knows his type. She falls for it. She’s been there, done that. She realizes what Dean was, what he did to her, to them. And Harry, despite all his fine trimmings and posh accent, is just the same: an abuser. He’ll sweep Eggsy away, use him, and then discard him as soon as he is done. He’d already done it once.

 

She checks the bathrooms and break room first. When she doesn’t find them, she starts on the first floor. She swings open the changing room door, hitting something solid. It’s a foot.

 

“Wot the fuck is all this?” Michelle demands, glaring down at Harry and Eggsy.

 

Harry jerks awake as soon as she speaks, eyes snapping open. Disorientation sets in as he realizes there’s someone curled up next to him and he isn’t sprawled out next to the window. Michelle sounding angry isn’t exactly new, but he can’t remember why she would be mad at him this time. 

 

At some point in the night, Eggsy had shifted and rolled over, so he was burrowed into Harry, his head resting on his chest. Eggsy wakes with an undignified snort and blinks blearily up at his mother, brain not quite catching up with what’s going on.

 

“Wa?”

 

Michelle’s glare deepens. “Fucking hell, Eggsy.”

 

Harry’s memory catches up with him and he lets out a pained sigh, eyes squeezing shut. If only he could go back to sleep. But they were going to tell her anyway, he supposes, even if he would have rather not had to deal with it as soon as he woke up. He gently lifts Eggsy off of him, sitting up and rubbing a hand over his face. “Michelle,” he sighs. 

 

Eggsy grumbles at being moved. He’s awake now, so he shifts into a sitting position and looks up at his mother. The disappointment makes his stomach clench. He feels like he’s seven again and desperately trying to seek her approval.

 

“Mum,” Eggsy says placatingly.

 

“Tell me y’ didn’t fuck him,” Michelle demands.

 

“God, mum,” Eggsy groans. “No.” Not yet, at least. “Not exactly sumfin y’ can do right now, is it?”

 

“Don’t be crude,” she snaps.

 

Harry’s eyes narrow and he fights the urge to wrap his arm around Eggsy’s waist again. Now might not be the best time to get possessive. 

 

“Wot the fuck is going on?” Jamal calls.

 

“Y’ hush up,” Michelle orders, and Jamal instantly goes quiet, looking thoroughly chastised. “Take Daisy and get her some food. Go upstairs.”

 

“No, mum,” Eggsy says. “Look, just calm down a minute and we can talk.”

 

“This why we stayed then? Because y’re fucking him?”

 

“We’re not fucking,” Eggsy repeats. “Just,  _ stop _ .”

 

“With all due respect,” Harry cuts in, getting to his feet so he doesn’t feel as much like she’s looking down on him, “you  _ all _ made the decision to stay. Not just Eggsy.”

 

Not wanting to be the only one on the floor, Eggsy stands next to Harry. Michelle turns her wrath on Harry. “We stayed because of Eggsy. Y’ are just a product of his kindness.” She crosses her arms. “And I can see why.”

 

“Mum--”

 

“No, don’t ‘mum’ me. He’s already used y’ once. Wot did I say? All he’s doing is doing it again. He’ll probably steal everything out from under our noses.”

 

Had Harry not had extensive practice in keeping his feelings close to his chest, he would have winced. He can’t blame her for her poor opinion of him, not when he’s brought it all on himself, but it doesn’t mean he has to like her thinking of him that way.

 

“He won’t,” Eggsy says, taking a step forward. “Mum, he knows a place we can go. He wants us to come. I am going.”

 

Her eyes widen, and Eggsy flinches at the hurt in them. “Y’re abandoning us?”

 

“Wot? No, mum.” Eggsy shakes his head, frustration thinning his voice. “I’m not abandoning y’. I want y’ all to come. He has somewhere safe, somewhere like this. Look, just, just calm down for a minute and Harry will explain everything.”

 

This is it, the moment he’d have to explain exactly who he was and what he was doing to a woman who couldn’t think much less of him. But he nods, waiting to see if she’ll calm down, give him a chance to speak up in his defense.

 

“ _ Please _ ,” Eggsy adds, when his mother doesn’t relent.

 

She throws her hands in the air. “Fine.”

 

It’s so childish, but Eggsy doesn’t comment. Michelle walks to the others. Eggsy turns to Harry and takes his hand, giving it a squeeze before he follows behind her.

 

Daisy is awake, though she doesn’t look quite like she’s fully there yet, and Jamal and Ryan are watching Michelle like she’s a wild bear. They all turn expectantly to Harry.

 

Harry faces them, wondering if they’ll even believe him. It does sound a bit ridiculous when he says it out loud and he doesn’t have much in the way of proof. Except, he thinks, for the fitting room. If need be, he’ll get them all in it and show them what’s lying underneath their feet. 

 

Clearing his throat, he darts a quick look at Eggsy before beginning his explanation. He starts by telling them the origins of the agency, the leftover money after the deaths of so many heirs in World War Two, the founders’ need to protect their country. 

 

“You might have wondered why I brought you here, a tailor shop of all places, in order to avoid a horde of walkers,” he says. “The simple answer is that they can’t beat their way through the bulletproof glass. I realize it’s a bit unusual for a tailor shop to have bulletproof glass, but one of Kingsman’s priorities was the safety of its agents. This was, and continues to be, their cover story. However,” he continues, “it is not the main base of operations. Headquarters is way out in the country and I need to get there. It’s the place we’re most likely to find help.” He falls silent, waiting almost nervously for their reactions. 

 

Eggsy is captivated by Harry’s story, but then again, he does believe him. Jamal and Ryan’s expressions grow steadily more concerned and disbelieving by the moment, until Harry finally goes quiet. After a beat, Ryan says, “No offense cuz, but that’s the biggest load of shite I’ve ever heard.”

 

“Y’ telling us y’ve been a spy this entire time?” Jamal scoffs. “Wot y’ doing with us then?”

 

“He needed to heal,” Eggsy says. “How else do y’ explain the water and the glass? Walkers been beating on it for days, ain’t broken yet.”

 

“Eggsy, babe,” Michelle says, and her tone immediately grates his nerves. It’s the same one she’d use when he was a kid and said something stupid. “Y’ can’t believe him. He’s just telling y’ that, so y’ll follow him.”

 

“Why? Why would he go through all that effort?” Eggsy insists. He shakes his head. “Y’ve seen him fight. What more proof do y’ want? Aren’t y’ happy? We have somewhere to go. Harry can help us.”

 

“Bruv, we want to believe him, but…” Jamal waves his hand in front of him, as if it’s obvious. “Come on. A spy? In a tailor shop? That’s just… that’s just  _ too  _ unreal.”

 

“And zombies aren’t?” Eggsy snaps. “Fuck, we’re in the middle of a fucking apocalypse with the undead trying to eat us. How much more real can y’ get? Why is this so farfetched?”

 

Harry knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help but smile. “It’s alright, Eggsy. It is, admittedly, a little unrealistic. Had I not woken up in a hospital, I would have been able to show you a few things that might convince you, but as it is, all of my equipment was destroyed in the explosion at the warehouse I took you to.” His expression turns a little more grave as he focuses on Michelle. “But I assure you I’m not making all of this up just to get you to follow me. Making myself sound insane doesn’t exactly inspire loyalty.” 

 

He tilts his head towards the fitting room. “I can give you proof, though. If you’re still unconvinced.” He sounds a little smug, but then it’s not every day he gets to show off Kingsman tech to civilians. Which he really shouldn’t be doing in the first place, but desperate times call for desperate measures and these are most certainly desperate times.

 

Michelle watches him with narrowed eyes, but Jamal and Ryan perk up. “Yeah, wot, y’ got like a laser gun or sumfin?”

 

“He’s a spy, Jamal, not a fucking super villain,” Eggsy says with a huff. He is curious, though. Eggsy looks at Harry, brows raised. “Wot is it?”

 

“It’s in here,” Harry says, walking to the fitting room and opening the door. He steps inside, walking over to the mirror and waiting to see if the rest of them will file in.

 

“Wait, but there was nufin in there,” Eggsy says, following behind Harry. Eggsy had inspected it. Is he just fucking with them now?

 

Ryan and Jamal are quick to follow, but Michelle hesitates. Eventually she picks Daisy up and carries her into the small room, which now seems tighter with so many people in it.

 

Harry just arches one eyebrow at Eggsy before turning to the mirror and pressing his palm to the glass. It lights up just as it had the day before, scanning over his handprint before confirming that he is, in fact, an agent. Slowly, it starts sinking into the ground, the trappings of the fitting room giving way to brick walls.

 

“Holy shit!” Eggsy exclaims, his entire face splitting into a grin. He races to the mirror to inspect it. “Fucking hell, this is amazing.”

 

“Fuck,” Jamal echoes in wonder, while Ryan just stares slack-jawed. 

 

Even Michelle’s eyes widen in disbelief. Daisy seems to be the only one not impressed. She’s much more captivated with the pony figurine on one of the tables.

 

“When this lift stops, we’ll be at an underground station with a shuttle meant to take agents from here to the headquarters,” Harry explains, hiding his satisfaction  at their reactions. “Unfortunately, it seems to be out of service.”

 

“Okay, that’s wicked,” Jamal says.

 

“How do we get there then?” Eggsy asks, latching onto that last bit of information Harry supplies.

 

Harry hesitates. The lift continues its slow descent until a thin strip of light seeps in, growing bigger and bigger as the platform travels down. The brick forms the shape of an arch, the room beyond white and open. The shuttle waits with its doors open at the opposite side. “We’ll have to walk,” he admits.

 

Eggsy steps off the lift and looks around, Jamal and Ryan close behind him. Michelle remains on the lift, seeming apprehensive to venture out into the tunnel.

 

“Oh man,” Ryan murmurs.

 

Harry leans against the archway, not stepping off the lift but not wanting to stay right next to Michelle either. He stares at the broken shuttle, cursing the thing. It would be a lot safer to take that to headquarters, but without Merlin’s help he doesn’t know how to fix it.

 

Fuck if this doesn’t get Eggsy hot. He knew Harry hadn’t been lying, but even still, having the proof right there does something to his insides. Harry is a fucking spy.

 

Finally he turns to Harry, registering what he said. “That’s wot y’ were talking about last night, about if we go.” He considers their options. They could take the tunnels, but they don’t know what’s down there, and he’s sure there isn’t anywhere to hide if they run into anything. So it’s venture topside.

 

Harry nods. 

 

“Okay,” Eggsy says. “We walk there. We’ll need to make sure we’re prepared, though.”

 

It’s going to take a lot to get them there. It’s miles out in the country, set apart from everything else, and that’s even without any detours they might have to take in the city. Some parts of it will be too walker-infested to make their way through and who knows what else could be lurking out there. 

 

“The third fitting room should help with that,” Harry says, wondering how many weapons are left in the cache. It’s possible the agents cleared it out before retreating to headquarters, but maybe they’d left some things behind. It’s worth checking, at the very least. 

 

“What’s in fitting room three?” Ryan asks. They return to the lift, though Eggsy does eye the car one last time. It would have been wicked to ride the bullet.

 

“Please tell me it’s guns,” Eggsy says, looking at Harry with hopeful eyes. He’s like a kid at Christmas and he’s just been handed the keys to Santa’s workshop.

 

Harry shrugs one shoulder as the lift starts winching them back up. “I don’t know what’s left,” he says. “”We did store guns there, but they could have been cleared out, I suppose.”

 

Eggsy bounces on the balls of his feet as they climb back up to the top. Michelle still hasn’t said anything, her mouth pressed into a grim line. Ryan and Jamal are inspecting the mirror, trying to decipher how it works.

 

“But there could be some, yeah?” Eggsy asks. He really wishes no one was there at the moment, because he’d launch himself onto Harry. It shouldn’t have gotten him so worked up, but the thrill of shagging a spy just made his heart flutter. Besides, how cool is it that they were on a secret lift? And there is a stash of guns (or at least, a possible stash of guns)?

 

Harry rolls his eyes upwards at Eggsy’s eagerness, but he’s secretly a bit pleased. This has gone over better than he expected with everyone except Michelle. She still looks like she’d throw him to the walkers if she could. 

 

As soon as the lift judders to a halt, he’s through the door and heading into the third fitting room. “There could be some, yes,” he says over his shoulder. “But there’s a few other items I think we might find more useful than guns.” 

 

“Other items?” Jamal asks, followed almost immediately by Ryan asking, “What items?”

 

It’s like Harry’s picked up three eager puppies, all three of them following close at heel as he leads them to the third fitting room. Michelle reluctantly trails behind, clutching Daisy to her chest.

 

Harry places his hand on the coat hooks that will open the wall, lead them to the secret stash of weaponry. He gives all of them a stern look, every trace of humor gone. “When we get in there you do not touch  _ anything _ until I explain how it works, understand?” he asks.

 

There’s a solemn series of nods. Michelle even seems to have her curiosity piqued, though she hides it behind a stern frown. Eggsy lifts on his toes, as if he can somehow see over the wall, and waits for Harry to reveal what’s behind the door.

 

He doesn’t know what to expect, but he’s really hoping it’s something in the line of flame thrower. That’ll take care of the walkers.

 

Harry sweeps his eyes over them all one last time before depressing the hooks and swinging the wall inwards. The walls, once filled with various gadgets, are mostly empty. There are a few things dotting the racks and Harry hopes there will be enough to be useful. 

 

He walks in, eyes fixing on the one thing he’s been hoping they would still have. Vaguely, he wonders if Merlin had a hand in leaving it there, in case he came back. A smile twitches at the edge of his lips as he crosses over to the umbrella pegged up to the wall, taking it down from its hooks. 

 

The weight of it is so familiar that he almost feels like he’s been taken back in time as he runs a hand over the curved wood of the handle, hooking it over his arm. “There’s less here than I thought there would be,” he sighs, forcing himself back into the present. 

 

Eggsy’s eyes widen as he strolls inside, murmuring, “Nice, very, very nice.”

 

Jamal nods to the umbrella Harry’s selected. “Wot y’ going to do, beat them with that? Not going to last long.”

 

Harry just shakes his head, keeping it tucked over his arm. He can’t afford a demonstration in such an enclosed space; one of them was likely to get hurt. 

 

Eggsy cocks his head to the side, arching an eyebrow at the umbrella, before getting distracted by a few golden lighters. “Wot are those?” He doesn’t pick it up, though his hand twitches to touch the lighters.

 

Michelle takes a seat on one of the plush sofas in the center. There isn’t much she can say to disclaim Harry, so she sits, not letting Daisy wander too far from her.

 

“These,” Harry says, wandering over and picking one up, “are hand grenades. Probably the most useful things still in here, against the walkers,” he adds, looking around at the rest of the gadgets.

 

“No shit,” Eggsy whispers in awe. Now he really wants to get his hands on one, but he behaves and doesn’t pick up one of the grenades. “So, wot can we use? Anything good other than the grenades?” 

 

Harry considers that for a moment. “Against the walkers? No. Against living enemies we might find the shoes useful. And this, of course.” He taps the umbrella.

 

“Shoes?” Eggsy glances at the oxfords and brogues lined up, then turns his attention to the umbrella. “Wot’s that going to do?”

 

“For one, it will act as a bulletproof shield,” Harry explains. “Depending on what setting I have it on, it’s also capable of shooting an electrified, magnetic cable and stunning someone.”

 

“Fuuuck,” Jamal murmurs.

 

Eggsy eyes the umbrella critically, then glances at the shoes. “And the shoes?”

 

The cogs in his brain are turning, assessing everything Harry is showing them and how it can work to their advantage. He’s as amazed as Jamal and Ryan, but he also realizes this isn’t a game, that these are tools to protect them and get them safely to where they’re going.

 

Harry nods towards them. “Put on a pair,” he says. Of all the gadgets, they’re the only ones that have gone mostly untouched. The majority of the agents would have already been wearing theirs, and besides, they would be nearly useless against the walkers. A neurotoxin wasn’t going to affect a living corpse. 

 

Eggsy hesitates for a moment, before selecting a pair of oxfords that look like they will fit. He takes a seat and swaps the shoes for his ratty sneakers. “So what do they do?”

 

They look like any other pair of shoes, but he knows looks can be deceiving. Paired with his new clothes that Harry supplied, Eggsy feels like a regular gent.

 

Harry straightens his shoulders, turning to face Eggsy. He brings his heels together in a sharp salute, no blade sliding out of his regular shoes. “Try that.” 

 

Eggsy stands and copies the movement, clicking his heels together as if he were in a rendition of  _ The Wizard of Oz _ . A blade shoots out of the toe of his shoe and he jumps back. “Fuck!”

 

“Wicked!” Jamal crows.

 

“Eggsy, careful,” Michelle finally says.

 

Eggsy leans down to inspect the blade. “Christ, if that ain’t the shit.” He looks back at Harry with a toothy grin.

 

“Don’t touch it,” Harry says quickly. “It’s coated in a neurotoxin powerful enough to kill you in seconds. In fact, it’s probably better if you push it back in.”

 

Eggsy straightens immediately at the warning and then looks around. “How do I do that?” He tries clicking his heels again, but it doesn’t retract the blade. He settles for using the wall to push it back in carefully.

 

“Cuz, that’s sweet,” Ryan says. “Y’ think we can get a pair of ‘em?”

 

Harry nods, gesturing towards the rack. “Just be careful with them,” he warns, heading over to pick a pair out for himself. He feels more like an agent than he has for a long time and he relishes it. 

 

Once he’s laced them up, he heads over to the rings, only a few still in their proper places. He picks one up, slipping it onto his finger. It’s a bit tight, but it’ll have to do; he’d lost his custom-fitted one somewhere at the hospital.

 

Ryan and Jamal eagerly find a pair of shoes and trade out their torn sneakers. Eggsy looks through the shoes, trying to find a pair small enough for his mum, but none of the sizes will work.

 

“So we load up on weapons. We can sort through what supplies we have, get things in order, and then tomorrow morning we head out?” Eggsy says, turning to Harry.

 

He pauses, taking a moment to appraise him, to appreciate the cut of his trousers on his long legs, and the way he seems to carry himself. There’s definitely a lift to Harry’s shoulders. Eggsy itches to run his hands across them, to pull him down into a kiss.

 

Maybe they can have one last tryst before they leave. They sure as hell won’t be able to do much when they’re on the road.

 

“If we can be ready by tomorrow morning,” Harry agrees. “We should leave as soon as possible.”

 

****

 

Eggsy did one more run after they returned to the shop front, and then spent the rest of the afternoon going through supplies with Jamal and Ryan. They placed what they could bring in their bags, checked over medicine and batteries, and counted how much ammunition they carried. Eggsy had to make the decision on what sacrifices were made for what, whether food trumped medicine, and whether medicine trumped bullets.

 

Michelle, not having much ground to stand on now that Harry had cleared his name, spent most of the day sullenly keeping Daisy out of the way.

 

Harry spent his time combing through what was left of the gadgets, picking out what would and wouldn’t be useful. The pens wouldn’t do much good, and most of the lower-tech items had been useless even before the apocalypse. Still, at the end of it he’d collected enough that they should be able to defend themselves until they got to the headquarters.

 

By evening, after everyone had eaten, Eggsy suggests they turn in early. They’ll leave at first light.

 

Everyone seems to drift off quickly but Eggsy. He’s wired still from everything Harry had revealed. It also doesn’t help that there’s a ball of anxiety in his stomach, doubling with each passing hour as morning creeps closer.

 

Harry falls into a restless sleep. He’s about to drag them all off again and, while they might be a bit better prepared this time, that in no way guarantees their safety. If any of them die, it will be on him. 

 

Eggsy pushes himself up after an hour of not being able to fall asleep and heads to the break room. He splashes some water on his face, scrubbing off any remaining dirt and grime--it’ll be his last proper bath for a long time--and then drifts around the tailor shop, looking for anything to distract himself. His mind is on fast drive and doesn’t seem ready to slow down anytime soon.

 

Dreams of walkers overwhelming members of the crew jerk Harry from sleep and he peels his eyes open reluctantly. He glances out the window to determine what time it is, but it’s completely dark out, doesn’t give him much of a sense at all. He hauls himself to his feet, doubting he’ll be able to get any more rest, and heads for the stairs. The memory of the whiskey still sitting upstairs is too tempting to resist. 

 

Eggsy is sitting at the head of the long mahogany table. The decanter of whiskey he’d been drinking when he and Harry fought is sitting next to a half-filled crystal tumbler. Eggsy takes a sip, studying the paintings of the founding Kingsmen. Eggsy knew they didn’t look like tailors.

 

Harry pauses when he steps into the room, a bit surprised to see Eggsy already there. “You should be asleep,” he says, moving towards the decanter himself.

 

Eggsy smirks. “I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.” He nudges the bottle towards Harry. “Care for a drink?” 

 

“Yes,” Harry sighs, not even bothering to retrieve a glass. He drinks straight from the bottle, the once-familiar taste flooding his mouth. There’s a pang of dread as he swallows it, ingrained from the few times he’s had to use it as a farewell, and he can’t help but wonder how many agents haven’t survived this ordeal. He sets it back down but doesn’t release it, eyes closing for a second. “Do you think we’re making a mistake?” 

 

Eggsy considers the question as he takes a sip of whiskey. Are they? There is a very real possibility that they won’t survive this. There is also the possibility that if they don’t leave, they’ll die. Really, they have about as much chance as Schrodinger’s cat.

 

“No,” Eggsy says and flashes Harry a smile, hoping to assure him. “Wot else are we supposed to do? Wait till the food runs out?” He waves at the seat adjacent to him. “Let’s not talk about that, let’s talk about something else. Something that doesn’t deal with walkers or survival. Tell me about when y’ were an agent.”

 

Harry’s eyes flicker open and he gives him half a smile. He moves into the seat, taking the whiskey bottle with him, doesn’t answer until he’s taken another pull. “You’ll have to be more specific,” he says. “That covers a long period of time.”

 

Eggsy taps his chin. A million questions run through his mind, and he doesn’t know which to ask first. “Do y’ have a code name? Like Bond?” Eggsy asks, slipping to the edge of his seat. “Did y’ drive a cool car? Y’ have the cool gadgets, y’ had to have the cool car. I bet it was a fucking dream.” 

 

Harry laughs a bit. “Yes, I had a codename, and yes, there was a cool car, but Merlin never let me drive it,” he says.

 

“Merlin? Wot, y’ couldn’t drive it?” He frowns. “Wot’s the point if y’ don’t get to drive the cool car?” Eggsy furrows his brow. “Wot was y’r codename? Were y’ a double-o?” 

 

“No, Eggsy,” Harry says, with a slight shake of his head. “As you might be able to guess from the name Merlin, we had more of an Arthurian theme. This,” and here he gestures to the table they’re sitting at, “was our proverbial round table. All the agents had names linked to one of the knights, except for Merlin. He runs the tech department. And generally kept us all from falling apart.” He pauses to run a hand over his face. He doesn’t even know for sure that Merlin is still alive. “I was Galahad.”

 

Eggsy eyes the table. Not much of a round table. He doesn’t comment, though. “Galahad?” Eggsy hums and finishes the last of his whiskey. “So was there a King Arthur then?”

 

Harry’s lip curls slightly and he takes another sip of whiskey. “There was,” he says shortly. “There isn’t anymore.”

 

Eggsy frowns. He wants to ask why, but from Harry’s expression, he bites back the question. Instead, he asks, “So… did y’ ever,” Eggsy waggles his eyebrows, “have any honey pot missions?”

 

Finally, Harry lets go of the whiskey bottle, shooting Eggsy a look. “Yes,” he admits. “More than a few.” 

 

Eggsy doesn’t know how to feel about that. He knows Harry has a past. At his age, he would. Hell, Eggsy can’t say anything with the number of partners he’s had.

 

“Yeah?” Eggsy leans on the table. “Any good ones?”

 

Harry shakes his head. “You don’t really want to hear about that, do you?” he asks, one eyebrow inching upwards.

 

Eggsy hums thoughtfully. Not really. He stands and crosses the short space between them. Eggsy nudges Harry’s legs apart, and then slips onto his lap, bracketing Harry’s thighs with his knees. He loops his arms around Harry’s neck. “Suppose not,” Eggsy says. “I’d much rather discuss all the things y’ can do with me.”

 

Harry smiles, trailing his fingers down Eggsy’s spine. He leans forward to press a kiss to his lips, pulling away after a brief moment. “And what sort of things are you thinking of?” he asks, hands sliding down to cup his arse.

 

Encouraged by Harry’s hands, Eggsy rocks forward, a slow swirl of hips, and says, “Well, I was thinking about your hands.” Eggsy walks his fingers up Harry’s chest, stopping when he reaches the top of his shirt. He toys with one of the buttons. “Thinking about how nice they are, how good they feel.”

 

He kisses Harry, savoring the taste of whiskey on his tongue. “Y’ ever do it in here?” Eggsy asks, punctuating the question with another swivel of his hips.

 

Harry shakes his head. “There wasn’t anyone in here I ever wanted to fuck,” he says, squeezing. “Until now.” 

 

Eggsy grins into the kiss. “Yeah?” Fuck if that doesn’t get him hard. He picks up the pace of his hips, the slow roll turning into a hard grind. He nips at Harry’s bottom lip, working one hand between their bodies so he can tease open the buttons of his shirt. “Bet y’ say that to all the guys.”

 

“Only the ones I plan on fucking,” Harry says. He chases after Eggsy’s lips, capturing them in a crushing kiss.

 

Eggsy could have creamed himself right there. He groans and licks at Harry’s mouth, small needy sounds escaping him as he rocks against Harry. He really wishes they could fuck--like properly fuck, and not just some quick and dirty rutting. It’s all fine and good, he’ll take Harry however he can, but he’s seen that cock and he knows the weight of it. If it’s amazing in his mouth, he’s sure it will be absolutely mind blowing fucking his arse.

 

Eggsy reaches between them and struggles to undo his fly and zipper. His hands shake as he works his trousers open, withdrawing his cock. He reaches for Harry’s trousers next, all the while biting and sucking at Harry’s bottom lip.

 

Harry moves to help him, deftly undoing the button and freeing his own cock, already half hard. 

 

“Fuck, I wish y’ could. Bet it would be so good. Fucking want y’ to pound me until I can’t walk.” He kisses a path along Harry’s jaw to his ear, biting at the lobe, before panting obscenely against Harry. “Been so long since I had a proper fucking. My arse is so tight, it needs y’r cock.” 

 

An image filters into Harry’s mind. Eggsy gasping underneath him, legs wrapped around his waist, fingernails digging into his back. He moans, hips jerking a bit, seeking friction. 

 

“Y’ like that?” Eggsy grins cheekily and takes both Harry and himself in his hand, pressing their cocks together as he starts to stroke. “With such a big cock, y’d fill me up so nicely. Do y’ wanna? Mmm, bet y’ could make me scream.”

 

Harry grips Eggsy’s hips as if they’re a lifeline, leaning forwards to graze his teeth over his neck. “Bet I could,” he agrees softly, lips brushing over his pulse with every word. 

 

Eggsy tips his head back, rocking into his hand. He has to bite back a moan as he rubs his thumb along the tops of their heads, smearing precum. “Christ, Harry. Wish it could happen. Wish I could be filled with y’ right now.”

 

Harry shares the feeling. He releases Eggsy’s hip with one hand, adding it to the one already around their cocks, closing them both in his grip. “Someday,” he says, stroking them faster. “I promise.”

 

Eggsy drops his forehead onto Harry’s shoulder with a whimper, canting into their hands. The promise of what could come, of Harry filling him to the brim, leaves him clenching with want. He bets Harry’s fingers would feel amazing, rough with callouses and so thick and dexterous. 

 

“Harry,” Eggsy groans breathily. “Oh, God, Harry.”

 

Harry doesn’t stop, keeps up the pace until it turns almost brutal. He wants to say something, but he can’t bring his mouth to form words. He pants into the nape of Eggsy’s neck, grip on his hip tightening.

 

Eggsy presses his mouth against Harry’s neck, trying to muffle his sob as he squeezes the base of their cocks. His slippery fingers glide over their hot flesh, and the pressure of Eggsy’s cock against Harry’s sends sparks shooting through him. He’s on fire, a blazing comet streaming towards the end.

 

“Close, please,” Eggsy whines, as if pleading with Harry to let him come. “Fuck, fuck, Harry.”

 

Harry twists upwards. He moves his lips against Eggsy’s skin, finally managing to get out a single word. “Come.”

 

Eggsy cries brokenly against Harry’s shoulder, a small thing of drool escaping as he speeds up his hand and simultaneously thrust against Harry, chasing after his climax. He cums with a shudder, clinging to Harry with his free hand. Eggsy doesn’t stop stroking, even as his nerves turn sensitive. He uses his cum as slick, continuing to twist and squeeze his fingers, guiding Harry to his own release.

 

It comes soon after, spurred on by Eggsy’s frantic strokes and the cum striping his stomach. Harry buries his teeth in the crook of Eggsy’s neck unthinkingly, moaning around his skin. 

 

When he finally comes back to himself he sits upwards, eyes flickering to the bite mark he’s left on him. “Sorry about that,” he says, lips twitching wryly. 

 

Eggsy’s heart pounds, but he can’t say he’s upset about the bite mark. He practically purrs as he nuzzles Harry’s cheek. “I’m not,” Eggsy says with a grin. He scrapes his teeth along the curve of Harry’s neck. “Maybe next time I’ll return the favor.”

 

“Just do me a favor and don’t let any of the others see that. Given our situation, it might be a little suspicious,” Harry says, but he’s stopped sounding apologetic. 

 

Eggsy straightens up and looks at his cum coated hand. Holding Harry’s gaze, a devilish smile twisting coyly across Eggsy’s mouth, he licks sticky fluid from his hand.

 

Another moan is dragged from Harry at the sight and he forces his eyes closed. “...Eggsy,” he says and it sounds mostly like a plea.

 

Eggsy’s grin broadens. He knows they need to go back down and return to bed, but he can’t help but tease Harry a little more. The desperate look on his face makes his stomach tingle all over again. Eggsy picks up Harry’s own dirty handy and licks it clean, drawing each finger into his mouth to suck the cum off the digits.

 

He releases Harry’s middle finger with a wet pop. “I promise when I leave my mark, it’ll be where no one can see.”

 

Slowly, Harry opens his eyes, gazing at Eggsy through half-lidded lust. “It seems we both have promises to keep,” he says, reaching up to take Eggsy’s hand in his. He laces their fingers together, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Hopefully sooner rather than later.”

 

Eggsy leans into the kiss with a smile, and whispers, “I hope so.” 

 

It takes a little longer before Harry can bring himself to guide Eggsy off his lap, but the two of them eventually head downstairs and settle in to get what sleep they can. 


	18. Into The Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Eggsy lead the others out of the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're heading towards the end. I'm estimating maybe five more chapters, give or take.

Everything is hazed in red and Harry’s heart beats wildly in his ears, drowning out the sound of everything but the breath rattling in his chest. He glances from one side to the other, sparks of relief flaring up whenever he spots a familiar face. Jamal… Michelle and Daisy… Ryan… Eggsy. All accounted for. 

 

A miracle, given what they’ve just been through. Harry wipes an arm over his brow, smearing away the gore. It doesn’t make much of a difference to his soiled clothes and he knows he must look just as bad as the others. His numb fingers are still curled around the handle of his knife and he has to force himself to let it go. 

 

They’d known getting out of the city wasn’t going to be easy. The horde that had swept through London a few days earlier hadn’t completely cleared the streets and there had been a number of corners and side streets where walkers waited for them. 

 

Harry’s muscles ache, not just from hacking and slashing at their dead bodies, but the tension that has seeped into his bones as they crept through the city, trying desperately not to draw attention to themselves. The others look just as weary as he feels and he wishes they could stop, just for a moment. But the city’s edge is still a dangerous place and the stretch of road ahead of them reminds him just how far they still have to go. 

 

Getting to Kingsman’s headquarters seems more and more impossible with every step he takes. But there’s nowhere else to go. 

 

Eggsy stands next to Ryan, his chest heaving with each strained breath. They’d fought their way through the city, a trail of bodies and gore left behind like breadcrumbs no one would ever follow. Every part of him begs for rest, to stop for even a moment, but Eggsy knows the minute they stall, they’ll be overrun.

 

Now on the edge of town, Eggsy can make out trees in the distance. He glances back at Harry, one eyebrow lifted in silent question. Do they go for the trees and leave the city behind or do they retreat into one of the last remaining buildings that speckle the perimeter?

 

Blessedly, Daisy has remained quiet. She seems to understand the risk they’re taking and remains close to Michelle. There’s something haunted passing over all their faces, and Eggsy is sure he shares a similar look, but there isn’t time to digest the horrors they’d performed just to reach as far as they have.

 

Harry glances back at Eggsy before switching his gaze to the sky. It’s noon already, the sun shining directly overhead. He hadn’t thought they’d spent so much time in the city. Even more reason to keep moving, he thinks. “We have to keep going,” he says, straightening up. “Is everyone alright?”

 

“Yeah cuz, we good,” Jamal confirms.

 

Eggsy adjusts his grip on his crossbow. “We heading for the trees?” It’ll provide some cover from any bandits on the road, but they’ll have to keep their eyes open for any roaming walkers.

 

Nodding, Harry heads towards the side of the road. It’s a car-studded wasteland, the asphalt packed with people trying to flee at the first signs of the virus. Everything’s been long since abandoned, but trying to weave their way through the maze doesn’t sound appealing. 

 

He crosses over the strip of grass, making for the trees.

 

Eggsy follows after Harry, with the others towing close behind. With no one to care for anything, the land has begun to be taken back by nature. The tall grass, reaching past his ankles, sways in the breeze.

 

Once he passes through the trees, leaves crunching beneath his feet, the air ripe with the scent of mildew, Eggsy asks, “Where now?”

 

They’re following Harry, no idea where he’s taking them other than salvation. Eggsy pauses briefly to lean against a tree, using the opportunity of cover to finally catch his breath.

 

Harry allows the brief break, catching his breath himself. “It’s roughly 17 miles that way,” he points off in one direction, “if we follow the road.”

 

“Okay, we should be able to cover that in a day or so if we’re careful,” Eggsy says.

 

Seventeen miles doesn’t seem like a lot, and if it had been a different time, a different world, it wouldn’t have been that long of a trip. But they need to consider the dangers they’ll cross and have to keep half their attention on any walkers that could cross their paths.

 

“Can we stop and eat first? I’m starving, bruv,” Ryan says.

 

Eggsy’s stomach gives a growl in agreement, but he doesn’t say yes, instead he turns to Harry. “Wot do y’ think? Should we go a bit longer or eat?”

 

Harry just gives him a small shake of his head. “That’s up to all of you. If you need to eat, eat. We can afford to stay here a few minutes.” He hopes. He turns to keep an eye on the road, scanning for any signs of walkers or anyone else who might have made it out of the city.

 

Eggsy’s stomach gives another demanding growl. “Food,” Eggsy says. They won’t be much good if they’re starving and weak with hunger. “The area is clear, so we should be okay.”

 

Ryan doesn’t need to be told twice. He shrugs off his bag, which carries the bulk of their food rations, and digs in to pull out something for them to share. Eggsy finds a bottle of water in his own sack and takes an economic drink, even though all he wants to do is guzzle the bottle.

 

When the food is portioned out, they all settle down to eat. Michelle sits with Daisy in her lap and Jamal huddles with Ryan, splitting a can of peas. Eggsy carries over a can of navy beans to Harry and smiles. “Want to share?”

 

Harry nods, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. Everything seems to be quiet and, after a few minutes, he lets himself get a little more relaxed, enough to sit down near the base of a tree. Still, he keeps his focus spread out, listening for any sounds that shouldn’t be there, watching for movement out of the corners of his eyes. 

 

Eggsy flops unceremoniously onto the ground, brushing aside a few leaves. It feels good to stretch out his legs. Hours in a crouched position have left him stiff and his back throbbing. He takes a bite of the beans and then holds it out to Harry.

 

Accepting the can, Harry scoops out a forkful, passing it back to Eggsy. 

 

“So what’s this place like? Y’ think it’s really still standing?” Not much really is, even high-security facilities couldn’t handle the virus. Eggsy guesses it’s a little too late to be questioning whether the estate is still standing, but the thought hadn’t occurred to him until now.

 

“It’s still standing,” Harry assures him. The facility is too massive to just be overrun, even without its various defences. There was no way Merlin would have sat back and watched it fall, and the other Knights would have been there to help him.

 

Eggsy doesn’t argue with him. If Harry says it’s still standing, than Eggsy believes him. He takes another bite of beans and observes their surroundings. Shrubbery around the trees rustles, and Eggsy stiffens. A squirrel jumps out and darts around to a tree. The squirrel scales the elm and vanishes on the branch.

 

“Never been outside of London before,” Eggsy says. Granted, they aren’t that far outside London, but it’s still further than he’d ever come. Even the air smells crisper. But that may be the lack of decay and carnage.

 

“Oi, look at this,” Ryan says, shoving the spoon he is scraping his can with into his mouth and picking up a dusty sack. It’s ripped and blood-stained. He upturns the pack and gives it a shake, but only wrappers and pens fall out.

 

Harry’s eyes narrow and he glances around them warily, picking himself up off the ground.

 

“What’cha reckon it was left here for?” Michelle asks.

 

Eggsy hands Harry the can of beans. “Maybe a walker got ‘em.”

 

Everyone pauses, and Eggsy glances around the surrounding area to check and see if said walker would appear. There’s nothing around but squirrels and birds.

 

“We should go,” Harry says, appetite gone. He doesn’t know if it was walkers or something else, but clearly this isn’t someplace they should be lingering.

 

When Harry doesn’t finish the beans, Eggsy tips the can back and downs the rest of them--they can’t afford to waste any food. Everyone packs up and they head out, trudging through the forest that breaks up the land.

 

They don’t come across anything else, though, that shows signs of a fight or struggle. The highway weaves in and out of view through the tree lines. It’s better to keep off the main road, where a pack of walkers could be migrating, or bandits could be scavenging.

 

As they get farther and farther without finding anything, Harry starts to think he might have been a bit quick to jump to the worst conclusion. Still, better safe than sorry, and he’d rather be on the move than sitting around. The sooner they get to Kingsman, the sooner they can start cleaning up this mess.

 

Eggsy stops after twenty minutes of walking and cocks his head to the side to listen. There isn’t a sound, not even the call of birds. Eggsy exchanges a silent look with Harry and adjusts his grip on his crossbow. A breeze blows through the trees, stirring up the leaves at their feet.

 

Immediately, Harry is on edge. He pulls out his knife, holding it at his side so it’s ready to be used at the slightest sign of trouble. He can feel the others shift into defensive positions behind him, instinct pulling them together into a cluster.

 

When nothing happens, Eggsy continues on, walking towards the clearing ahead. In the distance, standing on top of a hill like a withered king, is an old victorian mansion that had to date back to at least the 1700s or 1600s. The ornamental landscape that sweeps down the hill has become overgrown. There’s something haunting about the house. Eggsy wouldn’t be shocked if it turned out to  _ be _ haunted. He really doesn’t want to find out. 

 

Harry looks up at it, eyes narrowed. Anything could be lurking inside of it. “Perhaps we should move back onto the road,” he says quietly. It’ll only put a few more feet between them and the house, but it’s better than nothing.

 

Eggsy eyes the house one last time before giving a curt nod and starting the uphill trek to the main road. He climbs over the side rail and steps onto the asphalt, coming to a graveyard of abandoned cars. Eggsy wonders if this is what a warzone would look like. Cars emptied and left behind, bodies discarded carelessly. There’s a half eaten corpse only a few feet away, the head smashed in suggesting that someone had taken care of it.

 

Harry grimaces at the maze of abandoned cars, smashed windshields and various blood smears making it seem more like a graveyard than anything else. It stirs up a sense of unease and he lets that sharpen his senses. 

 

“Turn Daisy away,” Eggsy orders his mum. He lifts an arm to try and mask the smell the breeze stirs. “Should we check for supplies or just keep going?”

 

If they make it to the Kingsman estate in the next couple days, they shouldn’t need to worry about food. But if they get held up, they may be sorry for not checking.

 

“Keep going,” Harry decides, eyes fixed on the corpse. “Whoever took care of that one might have cleared this area already.” Plus, he wants to get as far away from that house before dark sets in, but he keeps that to himself. No need to worry the others more than they already are.

 

Eggsy doesn’t question Harry. The further he can get Daisy away from the corpse, the better. Eggsy navigates through the labyrinth of cars. It doesn’t get any better. There are a lot of bodies, which says something when he thinks about it. Sure they had come across a prodigious amount back in the city, but Eggsy didn’t think there’d be so many outside of London.

 

Yet every few feet, they cross a brained corpse. Someone has been clearing them out. And from the sheer number of killed walkers, it’s someone that knows what they’re doing.

 

The longer they stay on the road, the more unnerved Eggsy gets. The cars hide anything that might be in front of them and every new corpse is a revelation. The smell gets worse and worse as the day gets hotter, decay mixing with the scent of twisted metal. More than one of the vehicles are nothing more than scrap heaps.

 

Eggsy comes to a halt when they reach a valley of walkers, their heads split open and spilled on the asphalt. The brain matter and blood has long since dried and baked into the road. Eggsy swallows, and the back of his throat cakes with the decay.

 

“Fuck,” Eggsy murmurs. “Who the fuck could have done this?”

 

Michelle makes a noise and Eggsy glances at her. She turns away, shielding Daisy’s face. Jamal and Ryan look on with a mixture of disgust and horror on their faces.

 

“Should we stay on the road?” Jamal asks.

 

Eggsy narrows his eyes ahead. The clearing of trees thins out the further they go, leading into another populated area. “We’re heading towards buildings.”

 

The only consolation, small as it is, is that the blood has clearly had time to dry. These kills aren’t fresh which means they’re well behind whoever killed them. Even so, it isn’t a great incentive to stay on the road. They’re just as likely to be spotted as they are to spot the other group. 

 

Harry glances up, noting the position of the sun. “We might have to stop here,” he says reluctantly. “Walking into an unfamiliar town as it’s getting dark wouldn’t be one of the best ideas I’ve ever had.” 

 

Eggsy glances around. There isn’t much by way of cover, but Harry has a point. They’ll want to tackle the city in the daylight, and there isn’t much more of it left. 

 

“What about we hole up there?” Jamal suggests, pointing to an abandoned camper.

 

“I’ll check it out,” Eggsy says and jogs ahead to the RV. It’s old and rickety, the paneling yellowed with age. Eggsy tries the door and finds it unlocked.

 

Eggsy inches in, looking over the narrow space before inching towards the back. There’s a rustling coming from the bedroom, the thin plastic door jiggling on it’s hinges. Eggsy lifts his crossbow and eases towards the rear.

 

He reaches for the small handle with his free hand, and with lightning reflexes, opens the door and takes aim.

 

A squirrel squeaks and darts between Eggsy’s legs, dashing out the door. Eggsy huffs out a laugh and does a quick sweep through the back, spotting the open window the squirrel must have gotten in through.

 

Eggsy walks back to the door and calls, “We’re good.”

 

The camper is as good a place to sleep as any, Harry supposes. Better than holing up in separate cars for the night, anyways. “I’ll take a look around and make sure there isn’t anything nearby,” Harry tells Ryan, slipping off between the cars to do just that. What’s good cover for them is equally good cover for anyone who might want to ambush them. 

 

They haven’t seen anyone all day, but he wants to reassure himself that they truly are alone anyways. He weaves around spilled cargo and corpses, crouching down to keep himself hidden. 

 

Harry works his way out through four or five rows of traffic before deciding that there’s nothing to worry about. He returns back to the camper.

 

Eggsy finds some towels and passes them around so they can clean up. Ryan uncovers an LED torch. When night settles around them, dropping them into the middle of an inky black ocean, Eggsy turns on the lamp and sets it on the table so they don’t have to eat in the dark.

 

Everyone unanimously decides to turn in after the last of the food has been eaten. Michelle discovers the table converts into a bed, along with the sofa. Eggsy, not caring what anyone says, drags Harry to the back room. They may not be able to do anything, but he at least wants to sleep in the same bed as Harry.

 

Michelle gives them a disapproving look, but Eggsy ignores it. “G’night,” he says, then promptly closes the door.

 

Harry raises an eyebrow as the door closes behind them. “You know your mother’s not very fond of me already,” he says, though he doesn’t look like that bothers him too much.

 

Eggsy shrugs, not even hiding his grin. “She’ll get over it.”

 

Eggsy considers taking off his shoes briefly, but then decides it’s probably best to leave them on in case they need to make a quick escape. He pokes through the drawers and finds a flannel button down, two sizes too big for him, and swaps it out with his blood soaked button down. The sleeves hang over his hands and the material pools at his waist. He feels like a little boy playing dress up.

 

“Come on,” Eggsy says and climbs into the full-size bed. He pats the spot beside him, still smiling. He doesn’t allow himself a moment to stop and think about the last couple that slept in this bed, whether they were happy or sad, whether they are alive or dead. He only allows himself to enjoy this moment with Harry.

 

Harry rolls his eyes towards the ceiling briefly, but a smile plays at the edge of his lips. He sets his knife on the small shelf beside the bed, within easy reach if he should need it, before settling in next to Eggsy.

 

Eggsy is quick to move in close. He doesn’t do anything other than settle his ear over Harry’s heart and loop his arms around his waist, hugging him close. “Y’ think whoever killed those walkers is still around?” Eggsy asks.

 

Harry settles his hand on Eggsy’s back, absently tracing circles through the flannel. “I’d say there’s a good chance they’re still alive,” he says after a moment. “They clearly knew what they were doing. But I don’t think they’re still around here anymore.” A stretch of highway between two cities with almost no cover holds little appeal. He falls silent, fingers still drawing circles. 

 

He won’t admit it out loud, but listening to Harry’s heart is calming. Eggsy struggles to keep his eyes open.

 

Tilting his head down, Harry watches him try to stay awake. “If we come across them, we’ll worry about it then,” he says quietly. “Get some rest.”

 

Eggsy shifts, lifting up for a moment to hover above Harry. Eggsy studies Harry’s eyes, a sleepy smile softening his features. He kisses the corner of Harry’s mouth and settles back into his position. The soothing touch of Harry’s fingers lulls him off into a deep slumber. Before he completely tips into sleep, though, Eggsy murmurs, “Wotever happens, promise we’ll always find each other.”

 

Eggsy curls his hand into Harry’s shirt, holding on even in his sleep.

  
Harry blinks down at him, his hand stilling. He notices Eggsy’s breathing deepen until he’s certain he’s asleep, dropping off before he can actually get an answer. He covers Eggsy’s hand with his own, brushing his thumb over his knuckles. “I promise,” he whispers.


	19. Pressing On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: #rekt
> 
> Didn't feel that quite fit the serious theme we have going, though.

Eggsy stares at the edge of the city, the last tendrils of sleep clinging to his sluggish mind. These are the mornings he wishes he could have a cup of tea or coffee or even just a soda to give him a bit more energy.

 

The quiet suburban area shouldn’t seem so intimidating, and Eggsy suspects that if things were different, it would have been a perfectly nice town. But now? Now it looks like the mouth of madness. They don’t know the layout of the area. Eggsy can’t rely on his street smarts to figure out the fastest escape routes. They’re quite literally going in blind, and that could mean certain death for them.

 

Eggsy glances back at everyone, his gaze lingering on Harry, before he swings his crossbow around into his grip and asks, “Shall we start? We’re burning daylight.”

 

Harry could almost accept that if it meant not having to drag them all into an unknown town. For the first time, he was really starting to regret not ducking out when he had the chance and going it on his own. At least if he’d done that he wouldn’t be looking ahead with such dread. Sure, it might not be easy getting through the place on his own, but he’d only be responsible for himself. Guiding five others through the mess seems impossible. 

 

Words stick in his throat and all he can do is nod.

 

“Do y’ know wot would make this easier?” Eggsy says, looking around at all the cars. It’s a proverbial candy shop of automotives. “Wheels.”

 

“Cuz, that would save us so much time,” Jamal agrees.

 

“I bet I could hotwire one of these. They haven’t been sitting that long, and as long as there’s gas in it and the battery hasn’t died, we should be able to use one. Hell, there may even be some with keys still in them.” Eggsy turns to Harry, his eyebrows raised. “Make crossing all that a lot easier.”

 

Harry considers that for a moment, looking around at all the cars around them. “Alright,” he finally says. “But we should pick one on the fringes. We can’t clear a path through all the rest of the cars.”

 

Eggsy nods and starts down the road, continuing until they reach the outskirts of the town. Eggsy stops when they reach a small cluster of cars. A few of them have their doors open and the key in the ignition still. Eggsy doesn’t bother with those. He settles on a four door Saab pulled off to the side of the road. It’ll be a tight fit, but it’s one of the better options and the keys aren’t in it, so Eggsy thinks the battery should be good.

 

The door is unlocked, so he doesn’t have to bust a window. He gets under the dash, shouting over his shoulder, “Keep an eye out while I work!” 

 

Harry just hopes the car will be fast enough to keep the walkers that they’re sure to attract at a distance. He’s not expecting the car to carry them all the way through the city; judging by the state of the streets of London, they’ll probably come across something sooner or later that will block their path. But the less time they have to spend on foot, the better. Whoever killed the walkers they’d come across the previous day are still out there somewhere. 

 

He turns to look for any potential threats, but there’s no one. It’s completely empty, no walkers, no people, nothing.

 

Eggsy curses under his breath when he jams his shoulder against the dash, but a few seconds later the engine hums to life. He wiggles out from under the dashboard and climbs into the driver’s seat.

 

“Let’s go,” he says, unlocking the doors. There isn’t a lot of gas, a little under a tank, but it should be enough to get them where they’re going. 

 

Harry waits until the rest of them have loaded up, leaving the front seat for Michelle and Daisy, before slipping into the back with Jamal and Ryan. “Don’t turn off the main road,” he tells Eggsy. 

 

When everyone is in, Eggsy begins a slow crawl down the street, weaving around the vehicles blocking the path. He keeps his eyes on the road, his gaze only wavering occasionally when he thinks he sees something.

 

The car is stuffy and hot, and Eggsy feels like he’s been shoved into a box, but he doesn’t open a window in case something jumps out at them. Eggsy slows when they come to an intersection that’s blocked off by an accident.

 

“Look at that,” Jamal says, shoving his hand in Harry’s face and pointing out the window.

 

Harry leans backwards with a slight grimace, but he follows the line of Jamal’s arm so he can see what he’s looking at. 

 

A symbol is spray painted on the wall, as if someone had marked the location. Eggsy taxis for a minute, studying the graffiti. “Wot’cha think it’s for?”

 

“Something we don’t want to get involved in,” Harry mutters darkly. He’s never seen the symbol before and it irks him immensely. Kingsman makes it a point to know things, but he can’t recall Merlin ever showing him anything that resembles the mark. 

 

Another backpack is a few feet away from the wall. Eggsy can’t tell if it’s full or not, and he doesn’t park so he can find out. The entire thing makes his skin crawl.

 

He rubs his jaw and looks back at the blocked path. “We’ll have to go around the block,” Eggsy announces, then turns down the road. He gets detoured twice by streets clogged with cars, and he’s almost afraid they won’t find their way back to the main road.

 

Harry mentally catalogues their route, marking every turn they take in case they need to trace their steps back. If all else fails, they’ll have to ditch the car and just walk around the mess at the intersection.

 

“Another one,” Ryan points out as they turn left, in a direction Eggsy hopes will steer them around the blockade of crashed cars and back onto the road. The symbol slips past them, the same as before, a large red circle with an arrow-like shape drawn in the center.

 

“Maybe someone is trying to leave messages,” Michelle suggests, shifting Daisy in her lap.

 

Eggsy finally finds his way back onto the main road and continues on through the city. “Well I ain’t stopping to find out.”

 

Harry wishes he had something to draw the symbol out on, show to Merlin when they get to Kingsman. Maybe he’s had an opportunity to find something out about it in the months since he’s seen him. It has to be something new, something formed in the time since the whole apocalypse started. “It seems to me like a territory marker,” he mutters, thinking about the bold placement of them.

 

They just don’t know whose territory it is.

 

“Should we be concerned?” Michelle asks.

 

“Not if we don’t stay long,” Eggsy says, speeding up a little bit. The sooner they get out of the town, the sooner they’ll get away from the the markers and whoever is claiming the streets.

 

“I don’t know if I’d let my guard down just yet,” Harry says, some twinge of intuition keeping him on edge. They’re not exactly inconspicuous, weaving through the streets in a pilfered Saab.

 

Eggsy coasts onto the sidewalk to get around some cars. As he passes by an alley, something slams into the side of the car on Harry’s side. Eggsy jerks the steering wheel with a curse, scraping against the boot of a car.

 

Whatever hit them slides along the side of the car and falls onto the street. Eggsy slams on the brake and cranes around. “Wot the fuck was that?”

 

The walker struggles up, reaching for the rumbling car with a groan.

 

“Don’t stop driving,” Harry snaps, glaring at the rearview mirror. The corpse’s hand claws weakly at the side of the door, fingernails scraping along the paint. “It was just a walker.”

 

Eggsy has his foot on the gas as soon as Harry barks the order. The Saab lurches forward, and he speeds ahead a distance. He slows when the walker dips out of his line of sight. They can’t afford to waste gas.

 

He white knuckles the steering wheel as he continues through the town, grateful when it finally slips behind them. The sinuous road carries them through another wooded lot, this one not so littered with cars.

 

Eggsy relaxes minutely as they leave the town behind, but like Harry said, he can’t let his guard down.

 

“Another one,” Jamal points out grimly, when they pass a single house along the outskirts of town. The hairs on the back of Eggsy’s neck stand, and he stops for a moment, studying the graffiti again.

 

There don’t seem to be any signs of someone in the house, but he can’t be too sure, so he keeps going. He just wants to be off the road.

 

_ Shit _ . Harry had been hoping that they’d limited their territory to the city. If they’re leaving marks out here… he doesn’t want to think about how big the group must be. Or how much power they might have in order to have driven anyone else out. “We aren’t too far from headquarters,” he says, partly to distract himself from his train of thought. “We should reach it near sundown.”

 

The news is a relief, and when there doesn’t seem to be anymore cars littering the road, Eggsy picks up speed. He cruises down the road, hitting a comfortable speed that allows him to relax his grip on the steering wheel. His fingers have started to cramp.

 

“So are they going to let us in?” Michelle asks. She narrows her eyes at Harry through the rearview mirror. “Y’d think, being a secret agency, they probably won’t be too happy about civilians.”

 

Eggsy starts at the question--his infallible faith in Harry hadn’t allowed him to even ponder the idea that they could be turned away--and glances at Harry through the mirror.

 

“I think it don’t matter now,” Eggsy says with a shaky laugh. “‘Sides, Harry is here. He’ll talk to ‘em.”

 

Michelle’s frown deepens. “Don’t seem like it matters whether he’s here or not. If they’re really spies--”

 

“They are,” Eggsy insists with a huff.

 

Harry shrugs. “They’ll let you in. I’ve already showed you the tailor shop and the underground, the headquarters won’t make much difference. If they decide that it was a bad idea in the end, they’ll amnesia dart you.” He doesn’t know who counts as ‘they’ anymore, but he’s sure someone’s stepped up to run the whole thing.

 

Eggy raises his eyebrows, a coldness spreading through his stomach. Jamal speaks first. “Wot the fuck is an amnesia dart?”

 

“Exactly what the term implies,” Harry says. “Completely painless, but you’ll wake up missing a few memories here and there.”

 

The air crackles with uncertainty. Eggsy doesn’t look in the mirror. He can’t bring himself to. Miss a few memories? How many were a few?

 

Would he forget Harry?

 

Would Harry let him forget him?

 

Eggsy’s pulse quickens.  _ No. _

 

Harry wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

 

There’s something akin to satisfaction in Michelle’s eyes, as if she’s somehow proven a point. Eggsy isn’t sure what it is. Daisy shifts in her lap, unaware of the turmoil, and watches the trees go by.

 

Harry goes back to scanning out the window. They’ve long passed the symbol, but he’s still not letting his guard down. “If I was going to dart you all, I would have done it already,” he says. “Besides, this isn’t something we’re going to be able to fix by pulling strings in the background. I have the feeling Kingsman is going to have to get a lot more public.” Which will be a change for all of them, yes, but clearly things aren’t going to be the same after this.

 

There isn’t much comfort in the words. It’s more of a consolidation, and Eggsy doesn’t know what to do with it. He shakes his head and keeps on driving, because at the moment that’s all he has.

 

“Right,” Ryan grumbles. “That’s real comforting, bruv.”

 

There’s a loud series of thumps and a pop as Eggsy drives over something, causing the Saab to bounce. Eggsy loses control of the wheel, swerving on the road. He slams on the break, pulling to the right as the car pulls left.

 

Harry automatically throws an arm over the person next to him (Ryan, he later realizes), his other hand braced against the back of Eggsy’s seat. He didn’t see what they hit and can only begin to guess at the damage done to the car.

 

Michelle shouts, bracing herself against the dash while clutching Daisy close. Jamal smacks into Michelle’s seat.

 

“Fuck,” Eggsy shouts.

 

The car fishtails to a halt halfway off the road, tires biting into the grass on the verge. It jerks abruptly to a halt, rocking up onto two wheels slightly before settling back into position.

 

Harry lets his arm fall away, already yanking the door open. “Anyone hurt?” he asks as he gets out, heart falling at the state of their tires. 

 

Not a single one of them is still completely intact, the tread turning into puddles, the slight hiss of air just loud enough to be heard. 

 

Eggsy climbs out of the car and joins Harry. “Fucking hell…”

 

“What is it?” Jamal asks, joining them.

 

“Tires are shot,” Eggsy says, already starting down the road to inspect the cause. He comes to a stop a few kilometers down, where the treadmarks start to veer out. Bisecting the road is a long, slightly rusted spike strip. The jagged teeth gleam in the flickering filters of sunlight that break through the fringing trees. Eggsy stiffens and calls back, “Harry, y’ need to see this.”

 

Harry, crouched down to inspect the tires, straightens when he hears Eggsy call him over. He stops when he sees the spike strips, an icy trickle trailing down his spine. “We need to get away from the car,” he says, voice tight with fear and uncertainty.

 

Eggsy doesn’t move immediately, his gaze fixed on the spike strip. He forces himself to turn away with a hesitant, “Y-yeah, yeah, okay.” A cold tar settles in his stomach as he returns to the car and helps the others collect their things.

 

“What do we do now? It’s getting dark out,” Jamal points out.

 

They could try to finish the last leg of the trip, but they’d be doing part of it in the dark. Eggsy spares another look at the useless Saab, then nods to the treeline. Beyond the row of spruces and elms are abandoned plots of farmland. “We should get off the road, in case whoever laid that comes back.”

 

Harry looks uneasily towards the treeline. Shadows are already gathering and they’re only going to get worse. If there’s someone waiting for them in the trees they’ll be walking right into them. On the other hand, they can’t stay exposed on the road. 

 

“Stay quiet. We don’t know how close they are,” he warns, heading into the thin strip of trees.

 

Daisy makes a sound, and Michelle shushes her. Eggsy shoots them a wary look and follows close behind Harry.

 

Eggsy keeps his eyes peeled as they walk. If they’re lucky, they’ll find out a house to take shelter in. Wind whips through the trees, turning the leaves backwards.

 

The sun sinks lower and lower, darkness settling thick in the branches of the trees. If they don’t find somewhere soon they’ll be spending the night in the open.

 

A side road branches off in the south from the road they’re on, and a few more kilometers down on the north side is a small brick cottage. It’s a rundown duplex, the overgrown grass and scraggly shrubs suggesting it hadn’t been occupied for quite some time, perhaps long before the apocalypse.

 

“We should be able to stay there for the night,” Eggsy suggests, starting for the house as he says it.

 

It certainly isn’t the worst place Harry’s ever holed up in for a night and he heads for it as well. There probably aren’t any walkers lurking in it, not with whoever-it-is nearby, but he’d rather not be taken by surprise. He has his knife out and at the ready as he approaches the slowly rotting door. He presses his ear against the door, straining to hear anything from the interior, but it’s completely silent.

 

“Why don’t me and y’ go in and check it out, make sure it’s all clear?” Eggsy suggests. The house doesn’t look like it’s seen an occupant for several years, but that doesn’t mean someone hadn’t had a similar idea for taking shelter. For all they knew, some poor sod hid inside while he or she bled out from a bite, and then turned.

 

Harry nods, placing his hand on the doorknob. He twists, unpleasantly surprised to find it unlocked, but as it creaks open, nothing lurches out of the darkness towards him. Everything is just as silent as before and he steps in warily, glancing around. 

 

Signs of decay are everywhere; Harry guesses this place was probably abandoned even before the virus broke out. All the better for them. That just makes it more unlikely that anybody is actually in there. The sitting room is clear of everything but a thick carpet of dust so he moves on to the kitchen. 

 

Eggsy takes the stairs, easing up to the second floor. One of the steps creaks ominously. Eggsy bats away a cobweb and turns down the hall. There are three doors, only two shut. He checks the room with the open door. It overlooks the front yard.

 

Nothing.

 

Eggsy moves to the room across the hall, finding the bathroom. Something skitters across the mildew stained tub wall. Eggsy’s pretty sure it was a cockroach, but he isn’t going to double check.

 

He closes the door and heads towards the room at the end of the hall. The floor groans with each step. Eggsy listens outside the door, and when he doesn’t hear anything he opens the door, bracing himself in case anything jumps out to bite him. The thinning sunlight catches clouds of dust floating. Eggsy looks around the bedroom, his eyes adjusting to the dim light.

 

Something glints in the corner of the room and it takes Eggsy a minute to process what it is. Cans. Three empty tin cans. Eggsy walks over and picks one up. A cockroach crawls out onto Eggsy’s hand. He yelps and drops the can, shaking his hand.

 

“Shit!” Eggsy hisses, dancing away from the bug as it dashes towards the corner of the room. Eggsy scowls at it and then picks the can back up, inspecting the inside. It’s clean, dust caking the outside.

 

He sets it back down and walks out of the room, returning downstairs. “Someone was here, but they haven’t been for awhile. Must have been someone seeking shelter.”

 

Harry’s cleared out the whole of the ground floor by the time he hears Eggsy yelp. He rushes for the stairs, nearly colliding with him as he’s coming down. Eggsy looks perfectly fine, however, and Harry shakes his head a bit, trying to ease his strained nerves. 

 

“As long as they’re not still around,” Harry sighs. He’s ready for this to be all over, for them to be safe within Kingsman’s headquarters where they don’t have to worry about walkers or symbols or any of it.

 

Eggsy pauses for a moment and studies Harry. There’s tension along the line of his shoulders. He’d like nothing more than to draw Harry somewhere private and just hold him, but at the moment they don’t have that luxury.Instead Eggsy takes his hand briefly and squeezing it. “We’re almost there, yeah? We got this.”

 

Harry gives him a weary smile, brushing his thumb over his knuckles. 

 

Eggsy lets go of Harry’s hand and collects everyone from outside. They all give the musky home a cursory look around, before settling into the living room.

 

Michelle pulls out food for dinner and they get comfortable for the night. As Eggsy chews on the congealed mess of processed spaghetti-o’s, he says, “In the morning Ryan and I can run out and see if there’s another car we can use. It’ll make the last leg of the trip easier.”

 

Harry wants to object, doesn’t want to let Eggsy out of his sight when they still don’t know who they’re dealing with, but he swallows it down. Someone has to take care of Daisy and Michelle. Pulling both himself and Eggsy away from the group at once would be idiotic. “Fine. But if you can’t find one within two hours, come back,” he says. “We’ll go the rest of the way on foot.”

 

Eggsy nods. “Okay.” He won’t even look that long.

 

After dinner, Michelle looks around the house for anything they can use for sheets or pillows. She comes back empty handed. The only thing in the house, other than bugs and dust, are the few cans rolling around upstairs.

 

“I’ll take first shift,” Eggsy says, leaning against the wall with his crossbow within reach.

 

Harry doubts he’ll be able to get much sleep, but he stretches out on the floor anyways. Might as well try. 

 

One by one, the others drop off, breaths deepening. Daisy murmurs something quietly, caught up in whatever dream she’s having, and still Harry’s wide awake. His mind won’t shut off. 

 

Sighing quietly, he sits up, brushing futilely at the dust coating his clothes. Silently, he moves to sit beside Eggsy, nodding at the group of sleepers. “You should join them; I’ll take your shift.”

 

Eggsy smirks, his head resting on his knees, which he had drawn up to his chest. “Y’ know, y’ always do that,” Eggsy says, mirth softening his voice. He shifts closer to Harry and drops his head on his shoulder. “Can’t sleep?”

 

“Yes, well, you never take me up on it,” Harry mutters, threading his fingers through Eggsy’s hair. “I can’t. Not when we don’t know who’s out there.”

 

Eggsy’s eyes flutter shut. “Well, keep doing that and I just might.”

 

He allows himself to relax into Harry’s touch. The solid weight of his body against his own is a small comfort against the unknown they’re facing. “Whoever it is, they’re probably just trying to survive,” Eggsy says. “Maybe they marked those places off to keep track of walker locations. I almost did it back when we were with Dean. Hordes kept moving too much though, it was too hard to track them.”

 

Harry hums, still trailing his fingers through his hair. “I suppose,” he says. It would be nice to allow himself to believe that, but not at the expense of their safety. “Though we didn’t see many walkers inside the town itself. Fewer than I expected.”

 

“Maybe it hasn’t spread to the country as much,” Eggsy suggests. He hopes that’s it. He hopes that maybe they’re finally escaping it. It’s a pipe dream, he knows, because something this great can’t be contained, but he clings to the possibility.

 

Eggsy opens his eyes and watches the others sleep. He doesn’t know how they do it, how they can shut down so easily. Maybe it’s exhaustion. Eggsy can’t. His mind swings back and forth, a pendulum oscillating between the instinct to fight or fly.

 

He listens to Harry’s breathing, concentrating on the scrape of Harry’s blunt nails against his scalp. After a while, Eggsy asks, “Harry?”

 

Harry’s eyes had drifted half-closed in the comfortable silence that had settled over them, but they flick open again at Eggsy’s voice. “Mmm?” 

 

Icy tendrils of apprehension curl in the pit of Eggsy’s stomach. One thought had been hanging in the back of his mind since Harry mentioned it. What if they had to get darted? What then? Would they be cast out? Would they go back to being on the run again? Would Harry let Eggsy forget him--would he forget Eggsy?

 

Eggsy licks his lips and whispers, “If they have to hit us with one of those amnesia darts, I don’t want to forget y’. I don’t care about nufin else, just… just don’t let me forget y’, okay? Promise me y’ won’t.”

 

That wasn’t what Harry had been expecting. He gently pushes Eggsy off his shoulder, taking his face in his hands and peering intently into his eyes. “Nobody is forgetting anyone, Eggsy. I’m not letting Kingsman throw you back out into-” he breaks off to gesture to the room around them, “-this. Alright? I promise.”

 

Eggsy searches his face for a minute, then nods. “Okay,” he whispers. He sets his head back on Harry’s shoulder and closes his eyes. Wrapped in Harry’s warmth, it isn’t hard for him to relax enough to start drifting off to sleep. He moves his hand away from his crossbow and throws an arm across Harry’s stomach, hugging him close.

 

“G’night Harry,” Eggsy murmurs, his breathing evening out as he nods off.

 

Harry finds himself having to fight to stay awake with Eggsy curled up against him, tracking the moonlight’s path across the floor to keep track of time. When he can’t keep his eyes open anymore, he reluctantly extricates himself from Eggsy’s hold and shakes Ryan awake to take over the next shift.

 


	20. The Dead Aren't the Only Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy and the others get into some hot water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //hides

The next morning, after breakfast, Eggsy gathers Ryan to go find a car. Before he leaves, Eggsy draws Harry aside and soundly kisses him, murmuring against his lips, “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

 

“Two hours,” Harry reminds him, not letting him go. “You have two hours and then I’m coming to look for you.”

 

Eggsy doesn’t argue. He isn’t planning on staying out that long. If they don’t find anything within an hour, he’ll come back. There’s no point in wasting daylight on nothing. But if they can find a car to make the last leg of their trip easier and faster, then Eggsy wants to at least try.

 

He squeezes Harry’s hand and then heads off with Ryan. They continue down the road, coming across a nursery not too far from the duplex. There’s a single car parked there, but when Eggsy tries to start it, the engine doesn’t turn.

 

“There was another road that went south,” Ryan suggests.

 

Eggsy rubs the back of his neck and squints at the low sun. “Yeah, okay.”

 

They cross a field that’s grown marshy from rain. Eggsy makes a face at the mud that splashes up his trousers, but he trudges through. He’s been in a constant state of bone-deep exhaustion for weeks, and now that they’re so close to finally being done with their journey, he can feel it all sinking in. As soon as they are at the estate and he no longer has to watch over his shoulder for walkers, Eggsy is going to sleep for a week straight.

 

There’s a thin line of trees near the road Ryan mentioned. A few kilometers down is a large farmstead. Eggsy throws an arm out to stop Ryan from walking straight towards it and orders, “Wait.”

 

He jerks his chin towards the trees and they move into the cover of the elms. Eggsy crouches low to the ground and observes the farmstead. The house is weather beaten, and there’s a paint stripped fence looping the perimeter, cobbled together with a crumbling antique stone wall and razor wire.

 

Three buildings, including a large barn, are on the property. Eggsy presses against the tree, the bark rubbing against his fingers, and tries to get a better view over the fence. He can make out the shape of a truck.

 

“Should we go for it?” Ryan asks.

 

Eggsy knows he could get it. He’s stolen plenty of cars back in the day. But is it worth it? The front door to the house swings open and a man walks out. Eggsy can’t see much of his face, but he can make out what looks like a butcher’s apron. He heads towards one of the smaller barns off to the side, stopping only briefly to inspect the perimeter fence where some wire is strung up.

 

A walker is tangled in the wires, struggling futilely to free herself. She snaps at the man, and he just stands there, watching her. Eggsy can’t tell if he’s armed, but if he is, he makes no move to put her out of her misery.

 

The hairs on the back of Eggsy’s neck stand. He hauls himself to his feet and shakes his head. “No, come on. I don’t think there’s anything. Let’s just go back.”

 

Eggsy hears the stick snap before he sees the person step into his peripheral. He spins around, reaching for his crossbow. Ryan shouts something, but Eggsy doesn’t catch it. He sees the fist, and his mind tells him to dodge, but before he can process it, there’s a sharp bolt of pain. Eggsy’s vision spins, and the person attacking them gets in another shot, knocking Eggsy back against the tree.

 

The guy goes after Ryan, who dances out of the way. Eggsy uses the opportunity to jump their attacker, a large man with thick shoulders and a squat neck. He’s built like a bulldozer and he moves like one as well.

 

Eggsy manages to get his arms around him, hauling him back, while yelling, “Go!”

 

Ryan looks at him with wide eyes, fists raised to fight. Eggsy struggles to get his grip, the muscles in his arms burning as the man stumbles back. He slams Eggsy back into the tree, knocking the wind from his lungs. Eggsy gasps, managing to wheeze out, “Go!” Another slam. Eggsy’s arms tingle with numbness. “Fucking go, Ryan! I’ll follow!”

 

Something flickers across Ryan’s eyes, but Eggsy doesn’t get a chance to see what. Eggsy loses his grip and the man turns with a feral roar. Ryan, thankfully, takes the opportunity and makes a run for it. Eggsy can hear the door opening on the farm and someone shouting, but Eggsy doesn’t let himself get distracted.

 

He goes for his crossbow again, head still spinning from the double punch he received to the temple. Eggsy manages to fire a shot, and the guy lets out a howl of pain, an arrow sticking out of his shoulder. Eggsy doesn’t waste time trying to draw another arrow. He slams the crossbow into the guy’s gut, causing him to double over.

 

“Fucking bastard!” Eggsy shouts. Adrenaline is the only thing keeping him from passing out. He goes for another strike, but the guy lands a sucker punch to his gut and Eggsy hunches over with a groan.

 

“That’ll be enough,” a deep voice orders. Eggsy turns to see who it is and gets struck in the head with the butt of a rifle. He hits the ground, vision fading in and out. He clenches his hand against the grass, grabbing a fistful of leaves, and groans. He needs to get up. Needs to fight. Needs to get back to Harry.

 

Eggsy can hear them talking--arguing--but he can’t make out what they’re saying. It’s all muffled white noise ringing in his ear. He blinks, once, twice, and then it all goes black.

 

***

 

Adrenaline blurs Ryan’s vision, turns his feet clumsy. His heartbeat thuds wildly in his ears as he tears over the marshy ground back to the dilapidated house their group had sheltered in last night. It seems to take years before it comes into view and he pushes himself even faster, lungs screaming for air. 

 

Something registers as wrong once he reaches the doorway, but it takes him a second to figure out what it is. There’s no sound of pursuit. No Eggsy skidding to a halt beside him. He turns to look, desperately scanning the path he’s just taken but there’s no one. He cups his hands around his mouth, shouting, “Eggsy!” 

 

The word has barely fallen out of echo before Harry closes a hand around the back of his shirt, yanking him unceremoniously inside. “What the hell are you doing?” he hisses, slamming the door shut behind them. “Do you want to bring whoever’s out there down on us?” He glares at him, noting how pale he looks. 

 

Tears prick the corner of Ryan’s eyes and he gestures wildly, pointing off in the direction of the farmhouse. “They took him. Eggsy, they’ve got Eggsy, he was supposed to be right behind me,” he gasps. 

 

Harry goes completely and absolutely still, arm falling back to his side as he processes what he’s just heard. 

 

“What did he say?” Michelle demands from where she sits on the ground with Daisy. She pulls Daisy against her chest, as if the little girl can somehow ground her. “Where’s Eggsy?”

 

Jamal, standing beside one of the front windows, looks out. “There ain’t no one there.”

 

“Ryan, where the fuck is Eggsy?” Michelle’s voice breaks at the end. Daisy whines in her grip, and Michelle releases her, demanding, “Did y’ leave Eggsy?”

 

Ryan turns a helpless gaze on her. “This guy… he came outta fuckin’ nowhere. Eggsy jumped him an’ told me to run, said he would be right behind me. I wouldn’t’ve left him if I knew he wasn’t there, swear down.” He joins Jamal at the window, hoping against hope to see Eggsy coming up after all.

 

Harry hasn’t moved since Ryan first spoke, their conversation passing him by. The slow, familiar burn of anger starts in the tips of his fingers, making them itch for a fight, spirals outwards until he has to tamp down the urge to run right out there and lay into whoever’s taken Eggsy. “You,” he says, turning to point at Ryan, “are going to take me back to where you last saw him. You’re going to give me whatever weapons you took from Kingsman and you’re going to stay where I tell you while I get him back. The rest of you,” he sweeps cold, calculating eyes over Michelle, Daisy, and Jamal, “are going to get away from this house.” 

 

Michelle opens her mouth to argue to argue, but snaps it shut when she meets Harry’s gaze. She nods stiffly and whispers, “Bring him back. Y’ bring my baby boy back.”

 

“I will,” Harry mutters, a dark promise in his words. 

  
Ryan steps back from the window, mouth going dry. But he throws back his shoulders, determined not to let Eggsy die because of his fuck up. “There’s a nursery a bit down the road,” he tells Jamal. “If y’ hole up there, we can find y’ afterwards.” 

 

Jamal nods, and after they’ve gathered their things, and he’s collected a trembling Michelle, he leads them up the road to the nursery.

Harry and Ryan leave the house behind as well, both of them on high alert. Ryan’s still skittish from his sudden ambush and Harry is left wondering if Ryan was followed. He scans the treeline, not seeing anything, but staying cautious all the same. 

Ryan takes the lead, heading back to the farm and darting uneasy glances around at every rustling branch. As soon as he sees it in the distance he points it out, both of them coming to a halt. They’re too far back for Harry to make out any details, but he turns to Ryan anyway. “Go join the others at the nursery. Once I get Eggsy back, he’ll be able to lead me there.” After a moment’s pause, he adds, “If we’re not back within twenty-four hours, keep on the road you were taking before. You’re looking for a large mansion, shouldn’t be too far from here. Tell them Agent Galahad sent you.” 

Ryan nods once, looking more than a little reluctant to leave Harry on his own. But he turns and runs off all the same, back the way they’d come, heading for the nursery. 

Harry moves on towards the farm.

****

“Wake up,” someone shouts, the command followed by a sudden burst of pain in Eggsy’s gut. Eggsy jerks awake with a groan, a swell of nausea overcoming him. He hunches over, rearing forward on his shoulders, and sicks up what little bit of food and water he has in his stomach.

The first thing he registers--other than the burn in his throat and the throbbing in his gut--is the pounding between his temples, like someone was driving nails into his skull. The entire right side of his face hurts with a deep tissue ache, and from the lack of vision in his right eye, he thinks it’s safe to assume his eye has swollen shut.

He rolls onto his back with a groan, sick dribbling from the corner of his mouth, and looks at his attacker. It’s the man from before, his shoulder bandaged.

“Is he awake?” a woman asks, stepping into Eggsy’s line of sight.

Eggsy squints at them, then shifts his gaze to the pile of assorted shoes piled against the wall, and what looks like a butcher’s table. Large hooks dangle from the ceiling, piles of dingy, dark hay piled beneath. There’s a distinct fetid and metallic taste in the air, and Eggsy’s stomach roils again.

“Yeah, he’s up,” the man says with a sniff. He’s all pug nose and chin, no neck on him. He wipes his mouth and takes a step away, letting the woman approach Eggsy.

She crouches in front of him and he instinctively tries to scoot away, but it all hurts too much to really move. He’s vaguely aware of his hands being tied behind his back. Eggsy looks for his crossbow, but he can’t find it, and before he can get a real good look around the barn they’ve dumped him in, the woman grabs him by the chin with boney fingers and forces him to face her.

“Now, dear, we caught you and your friend creeping around our yard like a bunch of peeping toms,” the woman states briskly. Her fingers grip him tight enough to bruise. “I’d ask why you were, but it seems to me it doesn’t really matter. What does matter is where your friend is. So be a dear and tell us where we can find him.”

“Are there others?” the man demands.

Eggsy glances between them. While the man looks like a brute, the woman looks like someone’s grandma, with teased gray hair and gentle wrinkles lining her face. She’s even wearing a soft porridge-colored cardigan and pearls.

“Fuck you,” Eggsy spits out through gritted teeth. He’s never grassed before, and he sure as hell isn’t doing it now. He’ll die first.

The woman smiles, her nails digging into Eggsy’s chin. “Now that isn’t polite, is it, Henry?”

“No, it isn’t,” the man--Henry, Eggsy presumes--agrees.

The woman releases Eggsy’s chin, but before he can work his stiff jaw, she slaps him hard across the damaged side of his face. He gasps, the air caught in his lungs as pain radiates across his entire face.

“Why don’t we try again, but this time without the vulgar language?” the woman insists.

Eggsy spits out blood, not sure if he bit his cheek or if the split in his lip reopened. “Fuck you,” Eggsy repeats acidically.

The woman stands, disappointment clear in her eyes. “We’ll find him,” she promises, “but I can see you’ll make it hard. It doesn’t matter, you see, it isn’t going to save you.”

Eggsy glances warily from her to Henry. There’s a look on his face, one Eggsy can’t place. It isn’t the same expression Dean or his mutts got when they were about to beat the snot out of Eggsy. It was darker, more vile, and a great fear was borne from it, opening in the pit of Eggsy’s stomach with a rush of ice.

He doesn’t think he’ll be able to get out of this one.

“Strap him to the table,” the woman orders. “I’ll get Da and your brother.”

“Yes, Mum,” Henry says. The woman walks out, leaving through the large barn doors. Eggsy catches a brief glimpse of blue skies over the farmhouse.

Henry grabs Eggsy roughly by the shoulders and hauls him to his feet. Eggsy jerks and shouts, “Let go of me!”

Henry punches him in the gut again, briefly stunning Eggsy. Eggsy hunches over with another groan and Henry uses the opportunity to drag him across the hay and dirt strewn floor to the large butcher table. He heaves Eggsy onto it with a grunt, and the press of cold metal against his hot skin snaps Eggsy back into focus.

Eggsy bucks against his hold with a scream, but with his arms bound, he can’t do much more than twist and kick. Henry grabs his legs and manages to strap them into place. When he reaches for Eggsy’s arm, Eggsy lunges forward and bites him, sinking his teeth in until he tastes blood.

Henry reels back with a bellow. “Fucking bastard!”

  
Eggsy tries to twist away from Henry’s fist, but he isn’t fast enough. With a sinking heart, as his world is consumed by black and agony, he realizes he won’t get to see Harry’s eyes ever again.


	21. Rescue Mission

Harry’s narrowed eyes sweep over the farm buildings. They look deserted for the most part, and then movement catches his eye. A small, hunched figure leaves the barn, heading for the quaint house nearby. He goes completely still, mostly hidden behind a tree, tracking the woman’s progress across the yard. She seems older, her stride short and clipped, a decided slouch to her shoulders. 

 

He watches silently until she disappears into the house, waiting a few moments more to make sure there won’t be anyone following after her. When nobody else emerges, he hurries forwards, climbing as quickly as possible over the wire spooled on the ground, plastering himself against the fence once he reaches it. Harry only gives himself a couple of seconds to catch his breath, lining up his next target before vaulting gracefully over the fence and the coil of wire on the other side. 

 

It takes no time at all for him to reach the house. He ducks under the sightline of the window, moving around to the left side, away from the view of the barn. He doesn’t know where Eggsy is or what they’re doing to him but he forces his emotions down. He can’t afford to panic right now. 

 

The back door is what he’s expecting of an old-fashioned farmhouse like this: flimsy and protected only by a moth-eaten screen door. Breaking the lock is almost laughably easy. One sharp twist and he’s slipping inside, easing it shut behind him. 

 

The soft murmur of voices tells him that the occupants of the house are a few rooms over and his blood chills when he gets close enough to make out what they’re saying. 

 

“Henry’s nearly got him ready. He won’t give us much, that one, too skinny. But looks like he’s been eating better than most of the ones we’ve come across,” a woman says, her voice thin with age. 

 

A man grunts, and it’s accompanied by the creaking of a chair as he stands. “Did he come to?” 

 

There’s a brief burst of silence and when he speaks again Harry figures the older woman must have nodded. “Won’t have a good flavor, then. Fear’ll make him bitter.” 

 

“If you’d like to go out and find his friend, Russell, be my guest,” she says scathingly. “You’re the one who let him get away in the first place.” 

 

Russell scoffs. “He was already gone by the time I got there, mum. Let it go.” 

 

Footsteps move towards the doorway and Harry knows it’s time to make a move. 

 

Russell walks out of the room, eyes flying open in a mixture of surprise and curiosity when he spots Harry, but he doesn’t have time to do anything before a foot smashes into his kneecap. He collapses with a grunt of pain, an elderly man and woman poking their heads out to see what’s happening. 

 

As soon as they realize there’s an intruder, the older man reaches for a shotgun, scrambling to aim it at Harry’s chest. 

 

Harry loops an arm around Russell’s throat, hauling him to his feet and pulling him in front of him like a human shield. His knife is digging into the soft skin under his chin in an instant, a small pinprick of blood welling up and trickling down. “Drop the gun or I cut his throat,” Harry says, voice and eyes completely flat. 

 

The old man doesn’t move, sweat beading on his upper lip. 

 

“Do it, da,” Russell says hoarsely, lips moving as little as possible. “Fucking do it!” 

 

The old man lowers the gun carefully to the ground, hate-filled eyes trained on Harry.    
  


Harry digs the point of the knife in a little further, earning him a strained whimper from Russell. “That young man you were talking about,” he says. “Where is he?” None of them answer and he sighs, hand flicking down to drag the knife over Russell’s collarbone, the man yelping in shock. 

 

Blood wells from the fresh cut and Harry moves the knife directly over his Adam’s apple, eyes turning hard as granite. “Where is he?” he asks again. 

 

“In the barn,” the old woman spits. Her hands are curled into fists and every muscle is tense, like she wants to make a dive for the shotgun and is only barely holding herself back. 

 

“Much appreciated.” Harry slashes the knife across Russel’s throat, blood spraying outward. He shoves his twitching body towards the couple, the woman’s shrieks  echoing in his ears. 

 

The old man desperately extricates himself from the mass of limbs, already diving for the shotgun, but instead his hand wraps around something smaller. Puzzled, he squints down at a small, beeping… cigarette lighter? 

 

By the time the farmhouse mushrooms into an explosion, Harry is already out the back door and racing towards the barn. The blast knocks him onto his knees and sets his ears  ringing , vision swimming for a brief moment. He shakes his head harshly, ignoring the throbbing headache starting just behind his eyes and forcing himself back to his feet. He stumbles into the side of the barn, hauling himself around the back and waiting. 

 

When the explosion erupts, Henry, who’d been sharpening and cleaning the tools they’d use to harvest Eggsy’s meat, sets down the butcher knife next to the bone saw and turns around. It takes him all of five seconds to process the noise, before he storms out. He burst through the barn doors and comes to a stumbling halt.

 

The house is consumed by fire, the explosion taking out a large chunk of the front. Fire crackles, sending columns of black smoke billowing into the sky.

 

“M-Mum… Mum!” Henry yelled. He races for the house, throwing one arm up to protect his face against the heat and smoke.

 

As soon as Harry sees a man sprinting towards the house, he’s up and hurrying into the barn. His ears are still ringing and he decides to fuck listening in to see if there’s anyone else hiding out in the barn. He edges his left eye around the door, giving the place a quick once-over before ascertaining that it’s empty of anyone but the person strapped to the table. 

 

Eggsy. 

 

Mouth suddenly dry, Harry walks numbly into the barn, heart seizing in his chest. What if he’s too late? The gleaming tools on the sideboard drive another spike of fear into him and he wants to run, needs to see what’s become of him, but his balance is still off. It’s all he can do to put one foot in front of the other. 

 

“Eggsy,” he whispers, or at least he thinks he does. As he draws closer he can see that he is, at least, breathing. His body is a pattern of blood and bruises, one eye swollen completely shut. He’s nearly spread-eagled, arms and ankles strapped securely to the table. The wood is stained dark and Harry doesn’t even want to think about the kind of fate other people have met in this very same place. 

 

The conversation from earlier has made it clear exactly what they intended to do to Eggsy. Harry undoes the buckles with shaking hands and he’s not sure if it’s aftereffects of the explosion or just his own anxiety. He throws the straps off, shaking Eggsy lightly by the shoulders. “Eggsy?”

 

Eggsy stirs with a groan, his head lolling listlessly to the side. It takes a moment for him to come into consciousness, and when he does, he whimpers at the pain seizing his body. His immediate instinct is to fight when he feels hands on him. He lashes out, shouting, “No!”

 

His mind swirls with anxiety and adrenaline, and his one good eye isn’t completely open yet, but he thrashes and fights, refusing to give up if there’s even an ounce of breath left in his lungs. He’ll make it back to Harry, back to everyone, one way or another.

 

Harry rears backwards just far enough to avoid Eggsy’s thrashing hands. His grip on his shoulders tightens and he bears down on him with his weight, trying to keep him still. “Eggsy, I need you to calm down. It’s me. It’s Harry.”

 

Eggsy can’t breathe. He gasps for air, tasting ash on his tongue. His vision finally comes into focus and he looks at Harry, mid-strike. “H-Harry?” His voice cracks, vocal chords raw. He blinks his one good eye and then looks around. “W-what’s going on?”

 

“I’m getting you out of here. Can you walk?” Harry asks, looking at him doubtfully. He doesn’t look like he’ll be able to stand, let alone move on his own. 

 

Eggsy swallows convulsively and nods. There’s a ringing in his head, but he ignores it as he tries to climb down from the table, clutching onto Harry for support. As soon as his feet touch the ground, his legs give out with a horrible sense of vertigo and a wave of nausea.

 

Harry catches him as he falls, draping one of his arms across his shoulders and winding an arm around his waist to take his weight. “Come on, Eggsy, you can do this. We just have to make it to the truck.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Eggsy groans. His right side flares in pain. He struggles to stand and walk. It takes all of his concentration and energy just to hold himself upright. A tremor races through him, and for a terrifying second he thinks he’ll pass out again.

 

He manages to walk a few steps, somehow fighting back the nausea. Eggsy keeps his focus on the barn doors and the feel of Harry’s arm around him. It’s the only thing keeping him going.

 

“There’s no need to apologize, darling, we just have to keep moving. One of them is still alive.” Though, if Harry has his way, he won’t be for much longer. He has no intention of letting him get away with what he’s done to Eggsy, but his first priority is to get him somewhere safe. Or safer than the inside of this barn, at least.

 

Eggsy leans into Harry, not really processing what Harry said, but following the command of  _ keep moving  _ as if it were a lifeline tethering him to safety. By the grace of God, he manages to make it to the barn doors. The acrid scent of smoke is thicker.

 

From the barn it’s only a few feet to the truck, but it seems to take an eternity to Harry. His hearing is still recovering and he’s constantly checking over his shoulder and off in the direction of the flaming house, looking for the one man he knows is still around. “Almost there,” he says reassuringly, keeping at the same slow, steady pace. “Almost there.”

 

The reassuring promise of  _ almost there  _ keeps Eggsy moving. He reaches for the truck when it comes within arm’s length and practically sags against it, exhausted from the short walk from the barn.

 

Harry sighs in relief, yanking open the truck door, thankfully unlocked, and crouching under the steering wheel to work on hotwiring it.  

 

A fire roars from the house and Eggsy watches with wide eyes, realizing that’s where the smoke was coming from. He shifts against the truck and stands straighter. The entire house is engulfed in flames.

 

There’s a sudden, primal roar, like an enraged animal, and then Eggsy’s world is spinning again. He shouts, caught off guard by Henry, who slams into him and sends him sprawling to the ground. Eggsy gasps and struggles to throw Henry off, arms thrashing out as large hands wrap around his throat.

 

“You did this!” Henry bellows brokenly, slamming Eggsy’s head repeatedly into the hard, unforgiving dirt.

 

Eggsy blindly reaches for something to use to knock Henry off, choking, “H-Ha--Harry!”

 

Instantly, Harry is there, point of his shoe thudding into the man’s ribs with a sickening crack.

 

The blow of the kick sends Henry off of Eggsy. Eggsy gasps for air, rolling onto his side as he draws in sharp, strained breaths. Henry groans, holding his side and staring up at Harry in dawning horror.

 

Eggsy crawls a few spaces forward, managing to regulate his breathing, and turns to look at Henry. Something black spreads through Henry’s veins, discoloring the flesh around it. It only takes a few seconds for the poison to work. Henry’s eyes roll to the back of his head and he collapses on the ground.

 

The quick death is far more than the man deserves, in Harry’s opinion, but he has to get Eggsy to Kingsman. He needs medical attention as soon as he can get it, not to mention the sound of the explosion will have drawn any walkers that might have been nearby. He pushes the knife back into his shoe, ducking back into the car and stripping the wiring, working at it until he hears the engine rumble to life. 

 

He opens the passenger side door, bending down to help Eggsy off the ground and into the truck. Once he’s got him firmly settled, he hurries into the driver’s seat, navigating onto the road and back the way they came, a plume of smoke darkening the sky behind them.


	22. Salvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Eggsy reach Kingsman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!
> 
> One more chapter to go :D

Eggsy dips in and out of consciousness during the ride. He keeps his eyes focused on Harry, trying to hold onto reality as long as possible as they trundle down the road. There’s a sharp turn and then the truck stops. Eggsy reaches for the door, every part of his body protesting with each movement. He throws the door open and takes a step out, his legs still wobbly. Hands are on him and he flinches away.

 

“Easy, baby,” Michelle says. The sound of his mother’s voice relaxes him and he clutches onto her, a tremble running through him.

 

“Mum,” he croaks, voice wrecked and rough from Henry. A necklace of purpling bruises cinches his throat.

 

Michelle holds Eggsy close, supporting his weight as she moves towards the nursery. Ryan is there, hovering within reach in case Eggsy falls.

 

Harry climbs out of the truck, standing off to the side as the rest of them greet Eggsy. He watches him with careful eyes until they head off inside the nursery. He trails in behind them.

 

While Harry and Eggsy had been gone, the others had found bedrolls used for naptime. Jamal, after seeing Eggsy, rushes to retrieve one and stretches it out on the ground. Michelle carefully lowers Eggsy onto the roll. Daisy crawls for her brother, but Jamal catches her around the waist, earning a whimper of protest.

 

Michelle, tears shining in her eyes, inspects Eggsy’s face. “Oh baby, wot did they do to y’?”

 

“That bad?” Eggsy asks. He tries to crack a smile, but it hurts too much and he ends up grimacing. 

 

Michelle smooths her hand gingerly down his damaged face. “We’ll get y’ patched up.” She looks over her shoulder, telling Ryan, “Grab the first aid kit.”

 

Eggsy closes his eyes and Michelle gently shakes him awake before he can nod off. “Y’ can’t, baby,” Michelle says. “We don’t know if y’ have a concussion. Y’ need to stay awake.”

 

Eggsy groans, but obeys. It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open. His eyelids feel so heavy. Michelle accepts the first aid kit from Ryan and opens it. She pulls out some alcohol wipes and starts to clean the cuts. Eggsy hisses as she swipes the wipe along his eyebrow, where a nasty gash is.

 

“Fuck,” Eggsy wheezes.

 

Michelle hums apologetically. Eggsy can’t remember the last time his mum took care of him like this. Even when Dean beat the shit out of Eggsy, she’d stopped tending to his wounds, too strung out herself to do much of anything but stare listlessly at the wall. But now? Now it reminds Eggsy of a life before Dean.

 

Even after all they’ve been through--the lack of sleep, the fighting, the carnage--she’s never looked better, and despite the dark circles under her eyes, Eggsy can’t help but think how radiant she is.

 

Michelle moves to the antiseptic cream, applying it to the various cuts, before placing a patchwork of bandages and cotton pads on Eggsy’s face. He’s sure he looks like a mummy; he certainly feels like one. When she finishes, she fishes out a bottle of paracetamol and shakes out two pills for him. She hands them over with a bottle of water.

 

It hurts to swallow, but he manages to get down the pills and a few gulps of water before Michelle settles him back onto the bed roll. She strokes his hair, brushing the greasy strands from his face, then turns to Harry and whispers with surprising sincerity, “Thank you.”

 

Harry tugs out a bedroll of his own, unrolling it next to Eggsy’s. He settles onto it, eyes fixed on Eggsy’s face throughout all of Michelle’s ministrations until she speaks to him. He just shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have let this happen in the first place,” he mutters, stroking his fingers over the palm of Eggsy’s hand. He catalogues every injury and imagines inflicting them on the man who’d done this, but that opportunity is gone. Sighing, he stretches out on the mat, threading his fingers through Eggsy’s.

 

Michelle doesn’t answer immediately, and Eggsy finds it hard to concentrate on anything but the feel of Harry’s hand in his. He shifts until he’s pressed close to Harry.

 

“Well,” Michelle finally says, “Thank you, anyways. You brought him back, and… and that’s all that matters.”

 

Harry blinks up at her before inclining his head slightly. “You’re welcome.”

 

She doesn’t comment when Eggsy sets the uninjured side of his face on Harry’s chest. Michelle stands and goes to take Daisy from Jamal. “We’ll.. We’ll let y’ be,” Michelle says, then instructs, “Come on boys, grab some food.”

 

Ryan looks at Eggsy and opens his mouth, but after Michelle tugs his arm, he snaps it shut and follows behind her. Jamal grabs one of their bags and they leave, allowing Eggsy and Harry to have a moment alone.

 

Harry wants to pull Eggsy closer to him, but he doesn’t want to risk aggravating his injuries, so he settles for brushing his thumb over his knuckles. “How do you feel?” he asks quietly.

 

“Sore,” Eggsy confesses. His ribs feel like a battering ram had been taken to them. Eggsy watches Harry run his thumb over his knuckles, and admits with a somber whisper, barely loud enough to be heard, “I thought… I’d never see y’ again.”

 

He’d tried. He tried to fight them, but he couldn’t. He’d been sure that he’d never see Harry again, and it had scared him so much, more than death.

 

“We promised we’d always find each other,” Harry reminds him. “I wasn’t about to go back on my word.”

 

Eggsy’s heart flutters. He tries and fails to conceal his smile. It hurts, but he doesn’t care. He presses his face closer to Harry, listening to his heart. “I tried to come back,” Eggsy whispers, turning his hand so his palm faces up. He glides his fingers along Harry’s palm.

 

Harry rests his free hand gently on Eggsy’s back. “We’re even now,” he says. “You saved my life all that time ago and now I’ve saved yours.”

 

Eggsy hums. He can feel his eyelids growing heavy and he fights to keep them open. “Tell me something,” Eggsy whispers, “before I fall asleep. Anything.”

 

Harry ghosts his fingers down his spine, shifting so he can see his face. Anything? One thing comes to the forefront of his mind and he says it before he can stop himself. “I love you, darling.”

 

Eggsy’s head snaps up and it makes him wince at the sudden movement. Did he hear right? Did Harry just say what he thought he did? Eggsy pushes himself up, and it hurts, but he needs to see Harry. He looks down at him, searching his face, seeking any sign of regret or doubt. But there isn’t any.

 

“Say it again,” Eggsy whispers.

 

Harry sits up when Eggsy does, concern written all over his face when he notices him wince. Maybe that hadn’t been the best thing to say, given their situation, but it was the truth and he’d already lied enough to him. “I love you,” he says again. 

 

Eggsy’s entire face splits into a grin, and then he winces and dips his head. “Shit,” Eggsy hisses. “I wish I didn’t look like a fucking bad forgery of a Picasso painting right now.” He licks his lips, wishing he could kiss Harry. He meets Harry’s gaze and says earnestly, “I love y’ too.”

 

“Now, I think you said something about getting some sleep?” Harry says, settling back down on the mat. “The sooner you get some rest, the sooner we can get to Kingsman and actually get you taken care of.”

 

Eggsy lays his head back on Harry’s chest. It isn’t hard to sink into sleep, and thankfully, his exhaustion outweighs the trauma and he manages a few hours of restful sleep before the nightmares seize him.

 

Harry doesn’t sleep. He alternates between staring up at the ceiling or down at Eggsy, thinking about the family who’d taken him. They’d probably been normal people before all this started up, living their lives just like everyone else. And when things got bad they’d turned into murderers, cannibals, stooping to the lowest level just to stay alive. 

 

Despite Eggsy’s reassurances that this wasn’t all his fault he can’t help but feel a stab of responsibility. Even if they somehow find a way to stop the spread of the virus and exterminate the walkers, the survivors won’t be the same. Harry shifts slightly, suddenly feeling trapped, but not willing to move in case he wakes Eggsy.

 

****

 

Eggsy sits in the front while Harry drives, the others riding in the bed of the truck. Daisy is overjoyed sitting in the rear, bouncing up and down on the dirt road as they wind their way to the estate. Eggsy watches the mansion appear on the horizon. He wonders if anyone is really there or if they’ve all turned.

 

He’s too exhausted to muster up much more than a dull sense of relief as the Kingsman estate creeps closer. Eggsy looks over at Harry and reaches across the seat to set his hand on his thigh and squeeze weakly. They made it. Somehow, against all the odds, they made it.

 

Harry’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. They’re so close. The headquarters are within their reach and he feels like it’s about to be ripped from them at any second. He turns onto the unmarked road that leads up to the mansion, waiting for something to inevitably go wrong, but it doesn’t. Instead they come to a smooth halt a few feet from the front doors. 

 

Kingsman knows they’re here, they have to. They’ve passed at least a dozen sensors since they entered the property; at least one of them must still be working. 

 

“We’re here,” Harry says, looking over at Eggsy. He’s still gripping the steering wheel, knuckles slowly turning white.

 

Eggsy shifts away from the window, hand still on Harry’s thigh, and whispers, “Hey.” He moves his hand to set it over Harry’s, running his thumb along the bumps of Harry’s knuckles. “Everything will be fine. We do this together, yeah?”

 

He offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile; his face hurts too much to hold the expression long.

 

Harry eyes the large door at the top of the steps, half-expecting to see Merlin standing there already. For the first time, a seed of doubt enters his mind. What if there isn’t anyone in there? What if Kingsman has crumbled? 

 

He sighs, uncurling his fingers from the wheel, slipping his hand out from under Eggsy’s. “Let’s go.”

 

Eggsy climbs out of the truck, the others already waiting for them at the side. Michelle clutches Daisy close and stares up at the estate. Eggsy waits, letting Harry take the lead.

 

Harry walks up the long, flat steps, pausing in front of the doors to look at the small group huddled behind him. Then he lets out a slow breath, reaching for the handle. 

 

It opens before he has a chance to touch it, flying inwards to reveal Merlin, more haggard than Harry’s ever seen him. 

 

“Agent Galahad,” Merlin says flatly, barely seeming to register that there are other people there. “Welcome back.” He pauses, taking everything in, and then a smirk splits his face. “You look like hell.” 

 

Harry laughs wearily, bracing himself on the doorway with one hand. “I feel even worse. It’s good to see this place is still standing.” 

 

Scoffing, Merlin folds his arms over his chest. “I’m wounded by your lack of faith, but I’m glad you’re back. Who are they?” He tilts his head towards Eggsy and the others, for the first time acknowledging their presence. 

 

Harry follows his gaze. “I know we have a strict no-civilians policy, Merlin, but-” 

 

Merlin throws a hand up to interrupt, already shaking his head. “If we let all the Knights bring family, this place would be overflowing, Harry. We can’t make an exception for you.” He sounds truly regretful, but there’s no trace of pity in his voice.  

 

Eggsy’s heart drops into his stomach, but he tries to keep his expression as neutral as possible. Of course they wouldn’t welcome them. They’re a secret agency trying to rebuild the world, they don’t need civilians mucking around, distracting everyone. But Eggsy isn’t going to just  _ leave _ . He can’t. Harry means more to him than the world, and he isn’t willing to let go now, not after they’d come this far.

 

“They’re not family,” Harry protests, though he’s not sure how much that actually helps his case. 

 

Still, Merlin stands firm. “No.” 

 

The frustration and panic and terror of the past few months coalesces into one sharp bolt of emotion. Harry grabs the front of Merlin’s jumper in one hand, slamming him into the doorway. He moves forward until his nose is an inch away, eyes burning. “I woke up in a goddamn hospital with no fucking idea what was going on. Everything and everyone I knew was gone, I didn’t even know if Kingsman still existed or had any idea what had happened to me. You said you were glad I was back. If it hadn’t been for that young man, I wouldn’t have even lasted a day out there. You owe him. You owe  _ me _ . And I did not drag myself all this fucking way for you to turn us back at the door.” 

 

Tension crackles in the air and Eggsy braces himself for a fight. He doesn’t have the strength to jump in, but he will if he has to.

 

Merlin looks thoroughly unamused as he pushes Harry away and readjusts his glasses, knocked askew by his sudden movement. He spends a long minute staring at Harry before he steps aside, leaving the way clear for them to get in. 

 

All the fight leaves Harry in a rush and all he can feel is relief. “Thank you, Merlin.”

 

Eggsy relaxes minutely and glances apprehensively at Jamal and Ryan, still not saying anything--not sure if he should.

 

Harry tilts his head towards the open door, looking back at them and trying to muster up a smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but he disappears indoors before they can comment on it.

 

Eggsy and the others follow Harry inside. Eggsy cranes his head to look around as they step into the foyer of the manor. “Fuck me,” Eggsy mumbles, his one good eye wide. For a second he forgets the dull pain throbbing throughout his body, mesmerized by everything around him, but then he stumbles and a bad case of vertigo nearly collapses him.

 

Jamal catches Eggsy around the waist and grunts, “I got’cha, cuz.”

 

Merlin raises one eyebrow at Harry. 

 

“Is medical still up and running?” Harry asks. When he receives a silent nod as an answer, he takes Jamal’s place. “I’ll take Eggsy there,” he tells him. “The rest of you, go with Merlin. I’m sure he can find a place for you to get settled in.” 

 

Merlin doesn’t look happy about it, but he nods once, already heading off down one of the many corridors. He doesn’t check back to see if they’re following.

 

As the others follow Merlin, Eggsy leans into Harry and whispers, “I’m sorry.” He hates feeling like a burden, like some invalid. He tries to straighten, but his legs are still weak, and there’s a definite pain echoing across his ribcage. He ends up settling his weight against Harry.

 

“Don’t,” Harry says with a small shake of his head. “Don’t apologize. We’re going to get you help and then you’ll be right back to what you were before, alright?” 

 

He’d memorized the way to medical long ago, fortunately, and he steers Eggsy through the veritable maze of hallways and lifts until they’re finally greeted by men and women in scrubs and white coats.

 

Eggsy tries to keep track of each turn, but loses himself after the fifth and just lets Harry guide him. He stiffens when he spots the doctors. He’s never been a fan of them. All they do is prod and poke and ask too many questions.

 

A man in a pair of thick-framed glasses approaches them, eyes fixed on an electronic clipboard in his hands. “Galahad, always a pleasure,” he mutters, not sounding too sincere about it. Then he looks up at them properly, taking in Eggsy’s battered appearance with a tight-lipped glance. “Afraid I don’t know this one.”

 

“Eggsy,” Eggsy supplies. He narrows his one good eye at the man, not sure if he trusts the clipped tone. But Harry wouldn’t bring him here if he didn’t trust them to take care of him, so Eggsy tries to relax. 

 

The man offers him a hand, tucking the clipboard under one arm. “Eggsy, then. I’m Dr. Shreveport, head of Kingsman’s medical facilities. If I may ask, what branch do you belong to?” 

 

Harry steps in before Eggsy can answer, giving him a hard look. “He isn’t part of Kingsman, doctor,” he says. 

 

Shreveport blinks once, before staring at Eggsy with a new look, this time slightly tinged with amusement. “Ah, I see. Well then, I imagine all this is a little overwhelming. Why don’t you follow me to an examination room and we’ll see if you we can catch you up to speed?” He sweeps one arm in the direction of a well-lit hallway lined with rooms.

 

Eggsy glances at Harry before going into the room Dr. Shreveport directed him towards. He’s right about it being overwhelming. The entire facility is a hospital, and Eggsy can’t help but wonder about everyone out there suffering, needing medical attention, and here’s a place that could do something.

 

Harry trails along behind them, slipping into the room behind the doctor and leaning up against the wall, keeping out of the way. 

 

Dr. Shreveport busies himself with the standard examination tools, checking Eggsy’s blood pressure, heart rate, flitting efficiently around the room and jotting things down on a small notepad. Once he’s finished with that, frowning a little at his vital readings, he turns back to him. “I’ll need to get a look at your ribs. Where are you feeling the most pain?”

 

Eggsy casts Harry another glance, but slips off his soiled shirt to reveal his chest. Wrapping up the right side of his chest are large nasty bruises. His skin is a mottling of deep purples and blues, broken up by yellows and browns. He gestures to the lower half of his ribs, where Henry’s boot had struck especially hard.

 

“Here,” Eggsy says. 

 

Dr. Shreveport gently feels along the bottom half of his ribs, carefully running his fingers across the lines of bones. “Does it hurt to breathe?” he asks, prodding one place in particular. 

 

After one particular prod, Eggsy gasps sharply in pain. He flinches away out of instinct and shakes his head. When the flare of pain fades a little, he says, “Not really. A little, with deep breaths, but otherwise no.”

 

“Mmm,” the doctor hums, turning to his notepad and making another note. “Were you unconscious at any point?”

 

“Couple times,” Eggsy says. More than he’d like. It still chafed him that Henry got the jump on him.

 

That gives Shreveport pause and he darts a quick glance at Harry. “I’m guessing you didn’t take it easy on physical activity afterwards, did you?” he asks, but it’s not much of a question.

 

“Didn’t get much choice, now did I?” Eggsy shifts, the cool air of the medical wing making his skin prickle. “Think y’ can patch me up, then?”

 

“We have more than enough resources to take care of you here, yes.” He writes one final thing down on the pad before turning his full attention to Eggsy. “I’d like to get you an X-ray, but it seems like we’re looking at at least one cracked rib, possible bruising on others, multiple and extensive contusions, and a probable concussion.”

 

Eggsy swallows and shifts. It could certainly be worse. He could be dead. “Okay,” Eggsy says, then after a pause, asks, “How long y’ think I’ll be laid up?”

 

He was never good at the whole bed rest thing.

 

Dr. Shreveport does a quick mental tally before shrugging. “If you take it easy, two or three days at most. We’ll monitor you for a few days after that, but it’ll be easy with you staying around the facility,” he says.

 

Two to three days, Eggsy could do that. “Alright, lead the way, I guess.”

 

Nodding, Shreveport leads Eggsy off to the X-Ray room, going on about different types of medications and how long he can reasonably expect to stay on them. 

  
Harry slips off in the opposite direction, back the way they came. He makes for the barracks, figuring it would be the most obvious place for Merlin to set up the members of their small group. He finds he’s right when he enters the room to see them settling in on the thin mattresses, unpacking what little they have.


	23. This Is Our Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy and Harry finally get a moment, but will it last?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the last chapter! Hard to believe it's over! We'd like to thank everyone who has read! It's been a fun ride.
> 
> Don't worry about this being it, though. We're both working on the sequel right now. It'll probably be a bit before it's up, but there'll definitely be a second story. Follow us both on tumblr to keep up to date on all the information!
> 
> Thank you again for your support!

The two days Eggsy spends in medical seem to drag by. Harry wanders around restlessly, dropping by to visit a few times, though usually he’s sleeping or too drugged up to hold a real conversation. 

 

Merlin pulls him aside the day after they arrive to catch him up on what Kingsman’s been doing while he was gone. They’d consolidated their forces in the headquarters, all of the Knights that were able to come back arriving within the first few weeks. Several of them were missing, presumed dead, like he had been. At first, the ones who were left had been sent out to exterminate as many walkers as they could, but as the virus spread Merlin pulled them back, sequestering them in the one place they couldn’t be reached. 

 

They’d poured all their efforts, all their vast resources, into trying to come up with an antidote. Hacking Valentine’s records had proved a dead end; he’d used biometrics and, considering all of his DNA had been incinerated, gaining access to whatever formula he’d used to make the virus had been impossible. They worked with what they had. Walkers. Their blood and bone revealed nothing. The only thing of use they’d found was their brain. Still, trying to pull information from it had thus far proved useless. 

 

Harry spends much of the rest of his time pacing in the barracks, puzzling over what more can be done, if anything. Any useful information he might have once had would have been stored in his Kingsman tech, lost to the explosion. Everything seems hopeless. The world, essentially, is fucked.

 

***

 

Eggsy couldn’t have been happier when he was finally released from medical. He hates lying around all day, doing nothing. Granted, he slept for the first few days, which was definitely needed, but the doctor ended up keeping him bedridden for a solid week as his ribs healed. The swelling in his face had gone down, and he could finally see out of both eyes, but there was still a lot of bruising along his chest and face, most of which had turned into a nasty ripening banana pattern.

 

The first thing Eggsy did was find his mum and the others, who’d been placed on one end of the estate.

 

“Oh it’s lovely,” Michelle says when Eggsy finds her. “This place is a dream.”

 

“Cuz, y’r boy has the hookup,” Jamal says. By hook-up, Eggsy learns, he means food and water. It feels strange not to ration the supplies like they were, eating the bare minimum to keep going.

 

Daisy is actually smiling, finding a horse figurine that Eggsy is pretty sure isn’t really a toy, but no one has taken away from her so Eggsy isn’t about to. Everyone has new clothes and is  _ clean _ . Not just washed up a bit, but actually scrubbed and polished, with the layers of grease and blood peeled from their skin and hair.

 

Eggsy takes a shower as soon as he can and changes into a new pair of trousers and shirt he finds waiting for him. After, he goes to look for Harry. He vaguely recalls Harry visiting, but there had been too many drugs for him to fully recollect the memories. It could have all been a dream, if Eggsy was being honest.

 

All he knew was that he missed him, terribly, in the same way one misses a heartbeat. Eggsy wanders the halls of the Kingsman estate in search of Harry.

 

Harry leaves another disillusioning meeting with Merlin, this one peppered with explanations as to why they couldn’t risk coming back to save him. He never held it against the organization in the first place, but Merlin seems to think it actually bothers him. Probably the ‘you owe me’ comment he’d made to get them in. 

 

He heads for the barracks, restless as ever. Many of the other Knights feel the same way. They aren’t scientists or biologists, they’re soldiers, and they’ve had to take a back seat until the cure is found. It makes them all itch. 

 

Harry is distracted enough that he nearly runs right into Eggsy. “Oh,” he says, blinking down at him. “You’re out.”

 

Eggsy beams up at him, only a slight ache in his face now that it has begun to heal. “Y’ disappointed?” He arches a brow cheekily, hiding the dull worry that maybe the time away has somehow lessened or changed Harry’s feelings with false bravado. “Doc said my ribs are better, just bruised now. Gotta take it easy still, but I don’t have to stay in bed anymore.”

 

Disappointed? Yes, Harry supposes he is disappointed. But not with Eggsy. He shakes off the lingering disappointment from his meeting with Merlin, offering him a smile in return. “It’s good to see you up and moving again. You seem to be a better patient than I ever was,” he teases.

 

“Drugs help,” Eggsy admits with a shrug. “Was getting a bit restless. Not used to just… lying there, y’ know?” Eggsy narrows his eyes at Harry. “Is everything okay?”

 

There’s something off, but Eggsy isn’t sure what. He can just sense an air around Harry. Eggsy’s hand twitches and he wants to reach out and touch Harry, to hug and kiss him, but he restrains himself. They aren’t outside anymore. Harry probably wouldn’t appreciate Eggsy being affectionate when all of his co-workers can see.

 

Harry scrubs a hand over his eyes, shaking his head once. “No. I thought once we got here I’d be able to help fix things, that Kingsman would be doing something to get the world back to the way it was but…” He trails off, shrugging. “We’re just as helpless as everyone else.”

 

Eggsy takes a moment to process what Harry confessed. He then looks around, and seeing no one, grabs Harry’s hand and tugs him into the nearest room. He kicks the door shut and turns to face Harry.

 

“Look at me,” Eggsy instructs, taking Harry’s face in his hands.

 

Harry does, one hand reaching up automatically to curl loosely around Eggsy’s wrist. 

 

“This? Wot’s happening? I know y’ don’t want to believe me, but I won’t stop saying it. This ain’t y’r fault.” He knows the weight Harry carries, how he shoulders the fate of the world. But Eggsy refuses to let him do it alone. “And we aren’t helpless. We survived. We made it here. And if we can do that, then… then maybe we can work to find a cure.”

 

He doesn’t know what, or how, but he knows that if they can do this, if they can somehow make it to Kingsman, then they can surely save the world.

 

“But y’ can’t keep blaming y’r self. Y’ aren’t alone in this, y’ got me, and mum, and everyone else. And none of us hold y’ accountable.”

 

Harry sighs, eyes sliding closed. “I know none of you blame me,” he says. Which is a miracle, by his standards. He’d told Eggsy everything and yet he refused to see him as the person responsible for all of this. “It’s not even about that anymore,” he continues, eyes flickering back open. “Kingsman was created to help people and we aren’t. We can’t. For the first time, we don’t even have any idea where to begin.” Another wave of hopelessness overtakes him. They’d made it all this way for nothing.

 

Eggsy guides Harry’s head down, standing on his toes to meet him halfway, and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Idiot,” Eggsy admonishes gently. He presses another kiss to his cheek. “We made it this far, right? We should have all died, dozens of times, but we made it. Just… just have a little hope.”

 

Losing hope now won’t do anyone any good. He doesn’t really understand Kingsman or the virus, but if the group is half as amazing as Harry is, Eggsy believes they’ll figure something out.

 

“Alright,” Harry finally says, willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. After all, they’re still working around the clock to see if they can uncover anything useful. Perhaps, given enough time, they will. “You’re right, you’re right. I should stop moping.”

 

Eggsy hums, a teasing twinkle brightening his eyes. “I’m always right.”

 

Snorting, Harry rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “Like the time you decided to get yourself captured by a houseful of cannibals, were you right then, too?” he mutters.

 

“In my defense, I didn’t  _ choose  _ to go in there. They snuck up on me,” Eggsy says. He prods Harry’s side with a sharp jab. “Now, when are y’ going to give me a proper kiss? I’m finally better and all y’re doing is moping about.”

 

“I told you I was going to stop the moping,” Harry reminds him, but he can’t keep back a smile. He leans in and presses their lips together gently, still wary about aggravating Eggsy’s injuries.

 

Eggsy loops his hand around to cup the back of his neck and tugs him in for a deep kiss. He’s been out of comission for over a week, he wants something more than a dainty peck. There’s a slight ache from the mottling of bruises around his mouth, but he doesn’t mind. He darts his tongue out, teasing Harry’s bottom lip to coax his mouth open.

 

Harry pulls back with a reluctant sigh, glancing around the room. “You know, there’s probably a camera somewhere in this room,” he says, taking another look around. Just because he can’t see it certainly doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Kingsman’s security system is vast and not limited to the exterior of the headquarters.

 

“I’ve been laid up for a week, we’re not in danger, and all y’re worried about is a camera?” Eggsy cocks an eyebrow. “I must not be doing my job right.”

 

He glances around, though, to see if he sees anything whirring in the corners of the room. He doesn’t, but he guesses that doesn’t mean much when you’re in the headquarters of a secret intelligence agency.

 

Harry lets out a short bark of a laugh. “I’m not worried about the camera, I’m worried about who’s on the other end watching. It’s usually Merlin.” He likes the man, but he doesn’t have any interest in giving him a show.

 

Eggsy raises his other eyebrow, and then a slow grin spreads across his face. He waggles his brows. “Y’ sure? We could teach him a lesson about peeping toms.” He’s only teasing. The first time they’re actually together, Eggsy doesn’t want to share it with anyone. “Tell me y’r room doesn’t have a camera.”

 

This time, Harry’s laugh is more genuine, and he shakes his head. “My room doesn’t have a camera.”

 

Eggsy slides his hands up Harry’s chest, adjusting the collar of his shirt. “Well then wot are we doin’ standing here?”

 

Harry leans in to kiss him again before taking his hand and leading him out of the room. He takes him through the facility until they reach a less populated wing, only a few doors set in each side of the wall. He stops in front of one of them, pressing his thumb to the small, biometric scanner set into the handle. 

 

The door unlocks with a soft click and he pulls Eggsy inside.

 

Eggsy whistles. “Fancy. No one will be getting in to interrupt us here,” Eggsy comments as he turns around in a circle, observing the room Harry pulled him into.

 

It speaks quietly of wealth, not much to it, but what is there is expensive and tasteful. Harry tends not to use it, spending his time at Kingsman in either his office or Merlin’s, but there have been one or two occasions where it’s been useful. Now, for instance.

 

Eggsy stops in front of Harry, his cocky grin softening into a coy smile. He watches him through a veil of lashes, worrying his bottom lip. “Well,  _ Agent Galahad _ ,” Eggsy drawls. “Now that we’re here, wotever shall y’ do with me? I do believe y’ve made a few promises.”

 

There’s a thrill in being in the locked room, in having Harry all to himself. In finally being able to explore what has been held away from him for so long. Hunger blooms in Eggsy’s stomach, a banked fire that’s being stoked back into a fervor. All the pent up energy from being bedridden is vibrating through him, and the only thing he can think of is cashing in those promises they exchanged back at the tailor shop.

 

Harry reels him in, settling his arms around his waist and smirking down at him. “Have I? You’ll have to forgive me, when you’re my age you tend to be a little forgetful. What was it I promised, exactly?”

 

Eggsy rolls his eyes and wraps his arms loosely around Harry’s neck, tangling his fingers in his hair. He leans in and presses his mouth against Harry’s ear. “I do believe there was a promise about y’r cock fucking me until I can’t walk straight for a week.”

 

“Ah, yes, how could I have forgotten about that?” Harry teases, hands slipping down to cup his arse.

 

“Y’ must be going senile in y’r old age.” Eggsy grins toothily at him and bats his eyelashes.

 

Harry leans down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, drawing away with a wink. “That must be it.” He tugs him over to the bed by his hips, walking backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge and he’s forced to sit down. He draws Eggsy forward, gazing up at him like he’s trying to memorize every inch of his face.

 

Eggsy climbs onto his lap, settling his knees on either side of Harry’s thighs. He ghosts his fingers along Harry’s cheeks, the humor fading from his eyes as he settles over Harry.

 

“Wot is it?” Eggsy whispers, searching Harry’s face. There’s a look in his eyes, and it makes Eggsy’s skin tingle.

 

It’s the first time they’re alone, no threat of anyone walking in on them. His pulse flutters, excitement twisting his stomach. He feels like a teenager again, just discovering what it means to fumble in the backseat of a car. He’s waited so long for this--to have Harry all to himself.

 

“There was a point when you were taken that I thought I might never see you again,” Harry says, still staring at him. “And if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have had anything to remember you by. I don’t want to forget you.”

 

Eggsy pauses at the admission. “Harry…” he whispers. He’s right, though. They have nothing of each other. Nothing to make what this is real and tangible, at least nothing beyond the now and the memories.

 

He kisses him, long and deep, trying to convey everything that words can’t. When he breaks away, he presses his forehead against Harry’s. He wishes there was something he could offer Harry, a piece of himself that could assuage Harry’s pain, but all Eggsy has is himself.

 

Harry kisses him back almost desperately, trying to burn everything into his mind, sear his memory full of this man he never would have met were it not for the end of the world. He’s reluctant to pull away, only does so when he has to breathe again.

 

“I love y’” Eggsy whispers earnestly, his nose bumping against Harry’s. “Always remember that.” 

 

He will. Even if something should happen, Harry knows he will. “I love you too, Eggsy.” It had seemed easier to say before, more like a passing thought, but now it seems like the one thing he needs him to know. Harry could be taken away just as easily as Eggsy, and he wants him to know how much he means it, that he’s never meant anything more. 

 

Eggsy dusts his mouth against Harry’s. He knows things aren’t going to be easy for them, even if they have made it this far. The future is shifting and both of them could be gone in a blink. But they have now, and Eggsy plans to hold onto the present for as long as possible.

 

He smiles against Harry’s mouth and says, “Now, weren’t y’ about to keep y’re end of the promise?”

 

Harry returns the smile, hands taking to wandering. He kisses Eggsy again to distract from the hand sneaking down his chest and settling over his cock, palming him through his trousers. “I was.”

 

Eggsy gasps into Harry’s mouth, instinctively arching so he presses closer to the hand. He lets his own hands wander, fiddling with the buttons of Harry’s shirt until he has them undone.

 

“This room sound proof?” Eggsy asks, trailing a path of kisses along Harry’s jaw. “Cause if not, everyone is going to hear.”

 

“I don’t know,” Harry answers honestly. “I’ve never tested it.” He grinds up against Eggsy, simultaneously palming him again.

 

A whine rips past Eggsy’s lips at the double stimulation, and he presses harder into Harry’s touch, meeting each grind with his own needy thrusts. He grabs onto Harry’s shoulder and digs his fingers in, gasping out warningly, “Well y’re about to find out, bruv.”

 

He’s already hard, on the verge of stepping into the realm of aching. Really it wouldn’t take much from Harry. Just a look could set Eggsy off. Around Harry he was nothing more than a firework waiting to explode.

 

Eggsy swoops down and devours Harry’s mouth, rocking against him with slow drags of his hips. “Please tell me y’ have supplies,” Eggsy murmurs against Harry’s lips. If he doesn’t, Eggsy may just break down and cry.

 

By some miracle, Harry does. Merlin had insisted on it for all the agents because a Kingsman was nothing if not prepared. Despite, or maybe because of, most of them being single, he’d kept their rooms well-stocked. Two towels, two toothbrushes, one empty drawer in the dressers, all of it just in case. 

 

Harry mentally apologizes for all the times he’d made jibes at Merlin about it. Letting out a bit of a laugh, he nods. “I have everything we need,” he assures him.

 

“Oh thank fuck,” Eggsy mutters, burying his face into Harry’s neck and rutting against him like a simpering dog in heat. He mouths his way to Harry’s jugular, nibbling at his Adam’s apple. He pushes Harry’s shirt off his shoulders, leaning back long enough to appreciate his exposed chest. “Fuck, ain’t ever getting tired of the sight of that.”

 

Harry shoves the shirt unceremoniously off to one side, long past being uncomfortable with Eggsy’s staring. His scarred gunshot wound is surrounded by others of a similar nature, but he doesn’t care anymore. Nobody makes it out there without two or three of their own. He tugs at Eggsy’s shirt, peeling it over his head and running his own eyes over his torso. “You aren’t the only one.”

 

Eggsy grins and squirms in Harry’s lap. “Yeah? Not going to trade me in for a younger model anytime soon?”

 

Harry snorts derisively. “I think I’m the one who should be asking that question,” he mutters.

 

“I can promise y’, ain’t nobody better than y’,” Eggsy says with a wink.

 

He wiggles off of Harry’s lap and divests himself of his trousers and shoes, leaving him in nothing but his cotton pants. The bruising along his side makes him feel like a beat up banana, but luckily most of the ache has vanished. It really only hurts when he prods at it now.

 

Harry takes the opportunity to rid himself of the rest of his clothing save his boxers. Once everything’s in a heap on the floor, he moves further back onto the bed, stretching out a hand to Eggsy invitingly.

 

Eggsy accepts his hand and crawls up the length of the bed to Harry, settling into the curl of his arms. He presses a kiss to one of the scars dusting Harry’s collarbone and then places another along his shoulder. Harry’s skin is hot against his own, and his heart thuds rapidly as he shifts against him.   
  


Harry is careful with him, smoothing his hands along the planes of his back, running them up into his hair and savoring the feeling of their bodies pressed together. The last time they were so close, he’d barely been able to see anything and he takes the time to appreciate it now. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathes.

 

Eggsy flushes and dips his head down. He’s been called beautiful before, by clients when he worked the streets, but none had said it so ardently. For the first time since hearing it, Eggsy actually believes it. Eggsy licks his lips and glimpses at Harry through his eyelashes.

 

Eggsy traces a finger down the planes of Harry’s chest, scraping his nail across his nipple, before grazing his abs. He teases the band of his briefs.

 

Harry’s breath leaves him in a sharp gasp but he curls his hand around Eggsy’s wrist, stopping him from going any further. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks.

 

Eggsy meets his eyes, and without hesitance, whispers, “More than anything.”

 

Harry releases Eggsy’s wrist, giving into months of desire. He curls him closer, pressing lingering kisses on the edge of desperation to his mouth again and again.

 

“Harry,” Eggsy whines, returning to rocking into Harry. He returns each kiss with his own, clutching onto his shoulders as if it’s the only thing keeping him together. He’s so hard, precum dampening the front of his briefs. “Fuck, please. Been waiting so long.”

 

Harry has been waiting as long as Eggsy and fuck if that whine of his doesn’t go straight to his cock. He rolls them over until he’s on top of him, moving his kisses down to his neck and jaw. He continues his path downwards, mouthing at the hollow of his throat, scraping his teeth against his collarbones. His tongue laves over Eggsy’s nipple as he slinks his way down his body, avoiding only the bruises still patterning his skin.

 

When Harry teases his hardening nipple, Eggsy cries out and arches into the touch, the sensitive nub sending a spray of sparks through his body. He hooks a muscular leg around Harry’s narrow waist to drag him closer, grinding his cock against any part of Harry he can.

 

Light laughter bubbles up to Harry’s lips and he glances up at Eggsy with a teasing glint in his eye. “Patience, Eggsy. It is a virtue,” he admonishes. He goes back to kissing a path down his torso until he reaches the waistband of his pants, warm breath ghosting through the fabric.

 

Eggsy huffs, tangling his fingers in Harry’s hair. “Been waiting long enough,” Eggsy says, the sentence breaking into a needy moan when he feels a hot puff of breath against his damp briefs. “Y’re killing me here, Harry.”

 

“Mmm, I suppose that’s true,” Harry hums, but he doesn’t make any move to quicken the pace. Instead he peels away Eggsy’s boxers and presses his mouth over his cock almost lazily, running his tongue up along his shaft.

 

Eggsy squeezes his eyes shut, stammering out a series of fucks as if they were benedictions, and grabs onto the comforter beneath him. He licks his lips and peels open his eyes, looking down the length of his torso to watch Harry.

 

His cock dribbles out more precum, and his bollocks already feel heavy. He focuses on taking even breaths to calm his hyper-sensitive nerves. His skin twitches and prickles beneath Harry’s touch, making it harder to control himself.

 

Harry keeps working him until he’s sure he’s just managing to hold himself back and then he pulls away completely. He hooks his thumbs in his own boxers, tugging them down and out of the way before resettling himself over Eggsy, pressing their mouths together again. When he draws back, there’s the barest hint of a smirk. “I would ask if you’re ready, but I think you’ve made that quite clear,” he says, rolling his hips down into his hard cock.

 

Eggy reaches down and grabs two fistfuls of Harry’s arse, dragging him closer until he can grind against him. “Bastard,” Eggsy laughs. “Don’t act like y’ ain’t aching for it. I’m not going to be the only one screaming.”

 

“Of course not. You’ve made me aware that I don’t know if my very own room is soundproof, and I intend to find out whether or not it is.” Harry sits up, raking a hand through his hair (which is starting to get rather unruly) and reaching for the drawer on the nightstand. He hunts through it until his fingers close around a bottle of lube. 

 

It only takes a second for him to coat his fingers with it liberally and he bends back down to kiss Eggsy again.

 

Eggsy wiggles out from under him after one final kiss and rolls over onto his belly. It’s been so long since he’s last been intimate with a person, let alone a man, that Eggsy knows it’ll take some work to get him to open up. He bends at the waist, raising his arse in the air and looks over his shoulder.

 

“Well then, we better get to work,” Eggsy says, spreading his legs a little wider so Harry can catch a glimpse of his tight hole.

 

Harry’s finger comes to rest at the base of his spine and he trails it down until it’s circling the red ring of muscle. He doesn’t tease him for long, abandoning his earlier lecture on patience, slowly slipping inside him.

 

Eggsy drops his head with a low keen and presses back against Harry’s finger. He clenches around the digit. Every part of him is aware of Harry behind him, pressing into him, working him open.

 

“Christ, I knew y’r fingers would feel nice,” Eggsy rambles in the curve of his arm.

 

Harry appreciates the view he has, Eggsy’s rounded arse, the long slope of his back, the sheet-rumpled hair. He doesn’t stop his finger and soon he adds another one. He scissors them back and forth, opening him up further.

 

There’s a burn as Harry stretches him open. Eggsy’s stammering words slur, and spit smears across his arm as he turns his head to look at Harry. He fucks backwards against Harry’s hand, pistoning himself to push the digits deeper. The delicious ache of feeling his muscles widen makes his toes curl. It’s been so long, and he feels like a light weight given a glass of champagne: already drunk and giddy.

 

“More,” Eggsy chokes out when Harry’s finger bumps against his prostate and sends stars across his vision. Eggsy’s mouth drops open in a silent moan. “Fuck, Harry--another--please--fuuuck!”

 

As soon as Eggsy starts begging, Harry knows he’s found what he’s looking for. He slides in another finger on the next thrust, crooking it upwards to rub against his prostate more deliberately. He keeps it up, sometimes hitting it and sometimes not, keeping Eggsy wound tight.

 

With each press, Eggsy feels himself slipping further, until he’s practically sobbing against his arm. Every part of him is wound tight, and his balls are heavy, ready to explode.

 

“Fuck, Harry, stop--shit, I’m going to come if y’ don’t stop,” Eggsy stammers, reaching his hand between his legs to grab his bollocks and squeeze. “Want to come with y’ in me. Please, fuck--come on, Harry.”

 

Harry relents, drawing his fingers out of Eggsy and giving him a bit of time to come down. He reaches back into the drawer, this time for a condom, unwrapping it and deftly rolling it on. He slicks himself up with lube, running his fingers over Eggsy’s back just to touch him.

 

Eggsy shudders beneath Harry’s touch. He shifts, rolling onto his back. He knows the position isn’t the most ideal for comfort, that he’ll hurt after, but he wants to see Harry.

 

Eggsy’s eyes are blown wide and his cheeks flushed. He licks his mouth and reaches for Harry, his legs parting in silent invitation.

 

Harry guides himself into Eggsy slowly, eyes fixed on his face. His breath leaves him in a shudder as he’s enveloped by him and Harry’s next breath out turns into a moan.

 

Eggsy hooks his legs around Harry’s waist and simultaneously wraps his arms around his neck. He drags Harry closer, pressing his face into his neck with an airy sigh. “Love y’,” Eggsy mumbles wetly against his skin, grazing his teeth over his pulse.

 

The burn sharpens as he adjusts to Harry’s girth. He can feel the dull throb at the base of his spine, but he ignores it, savoring instead the feel of weight, the heat of their bodies, and the echoing beat of Harry’s heart.

 

“Eggsy,” Harry breathes, not sure he could say anything else at that moment, even if he wanted to. For a moment, he holds himself there, their two bodies intertwined, the brush of Eggsy’s lips and teeth on his neck.

 

It doesn’t take him long to start moving, sliding in and out of Eggsy with long, slow thrusts.

 

Eggsy scores his nails down Harry’s back and clings to his flanks, each drive of Harry’s hips bouncing him on the bed. Eggsy meets Harry’s thrusts with his own. He takes advantage of his position to leave a necklace of bites and marks along Harry’s neck, sucking bruises across his throat and moaning breathily against his skin.

 

He’s losing himself. He can feel his fibers coming undone. Everything holding him together unraveling until he no longer knows where he begins and Harry ends.

 

“Harry,” Eggsy sobs at a particularly forceful thrust, his voice breaking. “Fuck, harder--make me feel it.”

 

Harry groans, hips snapping, driving further into Eggsy. “I love you, Eggsy, I love you,” he pants, pressing sloppy, desperate kisses to every inch of his skin he can reach.

 

Every thrust ripples through Eggsy. Tears build in the corners of his eyes as he clings to Harry. His cock rubs between their bodies. He fishes a hand between them, wrapping it around his length, and starts stroking himself in time with each thrust.

 

“Love y’,” Eggsy stammers, repeating it over and over until it breaks into sobs, the pressure in his belly building. He’s so close, so fucking close.

 

Harry can feel Eggsy getting closer to the edge, his hole clenching around him. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip to keep back a loud moan. “Fuck.” He works his arm under Eggsy’s back, pulling him up slightly from the mattress to change the angle. He sinks into him a bit deeper, not bothering to try and keep back his moans anymore.

 

The new angle sends Harry’s cock skidding along Eggsy’s prostate, and with each following drive of his hips, Eggsy feels the hard pummel against his nerves. His mouth drops open, his head falling back. He digs his nails into Harry’s shoulders, the tears spilling from his eyes as he cries loudly--outright screaming.

 

Sharp pricks of pain dig into Harry’s shoulders but they only serve to encourage him. He peppers kisses on Eggsy’s jaw, moving them down his neck until he can sink his teeth into the junction of his shoulder, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to give him a jolt.

 

The bite sends an electrical current through Eggsy and his entire body goes stiff. He cums with a shout, clutching onto Harry like it’s the only thing holding him together. He squeezes his cock, milking his seed. Cum splashes up his chest, leaving white streaks.

 

His hole flutters and clenches around Harry, growing impossibly tight. Eggsy doesn’t stop moving his hips.

 

“Fuck,” Harry bites out sharply, clutching Eggsy to him. His hand fists into the bedsheets and he reaches his own climax when he feels Eggsy tighten around him. He fucks Eggsy through it in short, choppy bursts until he has nothing left. 

 

When he collects himself, he pulls out of Eggsy, collapsing to the mattress beside him and pushing sweat-damp hair out of his eyes.

 

Eggsy’s legs feel like rubber as he lowers them to the bed. He shifts, a pleasant buzz running through him, and rolls over to nuzzle Harry’s chest. He presses a kiss against his heart, his own still racing. 

 

Harry sucks down the first real breath he’s taken in a while and glances down at Eggsy. “Are you alright, darling?” he murmurs quietly, trailing his fingers through his hair.

 

“Perfect,” Eggsy murmurs. There are wonderful aches all over his body. Harry’s bite throbs pleasantly. He looks up at Harry, smiling dreamily. He traces a finger over the love bites he left on him.

 

Harry follows the path his finger takes with his eyes before reaching out and tilting his chin up, studying his face. “I want to remember this version of you, too,” he says absently, by way of explanation.

 

Eggsy stretches up, tangling his hand in Harry’s hair, and kisses him slowly. “Y’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” Eggsy confesses, lips still pressed against Harry’s.

 

He pulls away, far enough so he can see all of Harry’s face. He engrains every detail--from his hooded eyes to his mussed hair--to memory.

 

“And to think, we never would have met were it not for the end of the world,” Harry says wryly. But he’s smiling and he settles his hand on Eggsy’s back. “It’s enough to make me almost grateful.”

 

Eggsy buries his face in Harry’s chest and laughs. It feels good, like for the first time he can actually breathe. When he looks back up, his eyes are gleaming.

 

Harry falls quiet for a little while, savoring Eggsy’s presence and the warm afterglow of sex. Eventually, however, he looks back at him with a regretful smile. “We should probably get cleaned up.”

 

Eggsy makes a small sound of complaint, but rolls off of Harry. He stretches across the bed, the sweat cooling on his skin, and says, “I don’t think I’ll be getting up anytime soon. Y’ fucked me good and hard.”

 

Harry stares down at the prone figure tangled in the sheets for a moment. Then, shrugging, he leans over and scoops him into his arms. “I suppose that means I’ll just have to carry you, then,” he says.

 

Eggsy shrieks with laughter and throws his arms around Harry’s neck. Just to be a little shit, he finds a bare spot on Harry’s neck and sucks on it. 

 

“I’m going to have enough trouble hiding these already,” Harry admonishes, but there’s no real bite to the words. He gets them to the en suite bathroom, swinging the door shut behind them with his foot. 

 

When he turns to the shower, he gives Eggsy an apologetic look. “I’ll have to put you down now.”

 

Eggsy responds with a final loud suck, finishing off the bruise he’d been working on, and then lets his legs drop down. They’re still a little weak and sore from being bent, and he’s sure the doctor wouldn’t be too happy with the abuse to his ribs, but Eggsy isn’t complaining. Eggsy leans against the counter.

 

“It’s not going to be easy hiding this, so I think we’re even,” Eggsy says, pointing to the large bite on his shoulder.

 

“Terribly sorry about that,” Harry says, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He turns the water on warm before stepping in and offering a hand out to Eggsy.

 

“No y’ aren’t, y’ animal,” Eggsy teases. He accepts Harry’s hand and moves into the shower. It takes a bit of maneuvering, but they find a comfortable position. The hot spray helps ease some of Eggsy’s now tight muscles.

 

He tips his head back, letting the water run over him, and savors the feeling of rivulets running down his chest. The small luxury of being able to bathe now whenever he wants is still foreign to him, but it’s a concession he’s thoroughly enjoying.

 

Showers were never something Harry had taken for granted. He’d been on enough missions where he didn’t have access to water for days or weeks on end and what little he managed to find would have had to be used first and foremost for drinking. They have a limited supply of hot water at headquarters, but he relishes it while it lasts, combing his fingers through his hair.

 

Eggsy finds a flannel and some soap and works it into a lather. He washes Harry’s chest and back, taking his time to explore every available inch.

 

“I think this is my favorite version of y’--wet and naked.” He tweaks Harry’s nipple for good measure, before stepping aside to let him rinse off.

 

Harry steps back under the spray, watching the soap swirl down the drain. “Then it’s a shame you’re the only one who gets to see it,” he says, closing his eyes and tilting his head back to let the water run down his face. When he steps back to let Eggsy into his place, he gives him a wink.

 

“I prefer it that way, I’m not a big fan of sharing.”

 

Eggsy hums and steps under the spray. Eggsy rinses off, making sure to thoroughly clean himself. Once he finishes, he turns off the water and gets out of the shower. He finds a towel and wraps it around his waist. “Think we have time for a quick nap?”

 

Harry hunts down another towel, glaring ruefully up at his hair. It’s going to be hell to take care of when it dries. 

 

He nods as he dries off, very much looking forward to getting some rest. “I’d say we could fit something in.”

 

Eggsy dries off, finds a shirt--which ends up being Harry’s--and slips it on. He crawls into bed and pats the spot beside him. “Good, because I’m exhausted.”

 

One of Harry’s eyebrows quirks upwards at Eggsy’s choice of attire, but he doesn’t comment on it. He slips in beside him, practically melting into the bed. “Good night, Eggsy,” he murmurs, eyes already closing.

 

Eggsy slides next to Harry, wrapping his arms around him and settling his head on his chest. He doesn’t even get a chance to murmur his own sleepy good night before he’s nodding off, completely sated and relaxed.

 

****

 

Harry wakes to a familiar beeping sound that he hasn’t heard in a long time. Shaking off the clutches of sleep, he looks over towards the nightstand, the sound emanating from the drawer. His brow furrows and he carefully moves out from under Eggsy, reaching over him to dig out a pair of standard-issue Kingsman glasses. 

 

Years of habit have him slipping them on and pressing the corner of the frames twice. “Merlin?” he asks, voice rough. 

 

“Good of you to finally pick up,” Merlin says with a tone indicating he’s been trying for a while. “There’s something you should see in my office. If you can make time for it.” 

 

Harry presses his lips together to suppress a smile that Merlin wouldn’t even be able to see. “I’ll be there soon,” he says, before cutting the connection.

 

Eggsy wakes when Harry jostles him to reach the glasses. He groans and burrows closer into Harry’s side, grumbling at the movement. “Wot is it?” Eggsy asks without even opening his eyes. He brushes a kiss against Harry’s chest, settling back into his draped position.

 

“Merlin wants to see me,” Harry says, settling back into the bed. “I think it’s urgent.”

 

Eggsy opens his eyes and cranes his head back so he can look at Harry. “Yeah?” Eggsy almosts asks if he should go, but then decides the answer is probably no. He shifts off of Harry, wiping sleep from his eyes. “Shouldn’t y’ be going then?”

 

Harry shrugs one shoulder. “The good thing about cultivating a reputation as a person who’s always late, is that nobody ever expects you to be on time.” Even so, he drags himself back up into a sitting position. His hair billows around his head and he heaves a deep sigh. A quick finger-comb isn’t going to be enough to take care of this. 

 

He gets out of bed and checks out the dresser. There aren’t any suits, so he’s reduced to a dress shirt, cardigan, and slacks. To his disappointment, he discovers there isn’t any hair gel either, and he has to settle for an only-slightly-tamped-down version of his bedhead. He sticks his head out of the bathroom, looking at Eggsy still sprawled in the bed. “Are you coming?” 

 

Eggsy grins dopily at Harry. “Nice, very, very nice,” he says. He wants to run his fingers through Harry’s soft hair. “Why don’t y’ keep y’r hair like that more often?”

 

“You can’t possibly tell me you like it like this,” Harry says, gesturing up to the mess on his head. 

 

“I do,” Eggsy says. “It looks super soft. Makes me want to grab onto it while I ride y’.”

 

“I might have to start wearing it like this more often, then,” Harry mutters.

 

Eggsy winks at him. He slides out of bed and fumbles around for his clothes, finding his boxers and pants. He doesn’t bother changing out of his shirt.

 

Harry retrieves the glasses he’d earlier abandoned, feeling strange without them now that he’s been reintroduced. “Shall we?” he asks, offering his arm out to him formally.

 

Eggsy flushes at the arm, but accepts it with a smile. “Let’s go find out wot Merlin has in store.”

 

They arrive to find Merlin’s small office already occupied. The technician himself is staring at his computer screen, scanning through pages with intense focus. 

 

A blonde woman with her hair drawn up in a practical ponytail stands off to one side conversing with a dark-haired man who looks like he’s never heard the word ‘smile’ let alone actually tried doing it. 

 

When Harry steps in, all three of them turn to look. “Lancelot,” he says, somewhat surprised to see her. “Percival.” 

 

Eggsy rocks back on his heels, standing next to Harry. He looks curiously between Lancelot and Percival, but keeps his mouth shut. He doesn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to himself, especially if he wants to find out what’s going on.

 

Merlin swivels the chair around, and if he thinks anything of Eggsy being there, he doesn’t say it. “Percival and Lancelot have just returned from a reconnaissance mission with some very interesting information,” he starts, giving the pair a nod of approval. “Valentine’s warehouse survived the blast.” 

 

Harry drops Eggsy’s arm, suddenly wary about where this conversation is going. “I’m aware,” he says.

 

Eggsy glances at Harry, concern shining in his eyes. Eggsy recalls the shell of the building they’d visited when the horde overwhelmed them. He isn’t sure if he’d say it survived, but it was still standing.

 

“There could be information there that might be useful to us, some data about the virus that could help us find a cure,” Merlin says. Total silence covers the entire group. “Galahad.” 

 

And Harry has the terrible, terrible feeling that he knows exactly what Merlin is about to say. 

  
“We need you to go back.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow us at [Sheepie](http://sheepunderthemountain.tumblr.com/) and [Mitslits](http://hartwinorlose.tumblr.com/) for updates.


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